The Artorius Blade
by wryter501
Summary: The once and future court of Camelot has faced and defeated challenges of the 21st century. But will the past come back to haunt them? Merlin answers a plea for help from someone he knew years ago, while Arthur deals with a too-good-to-be-true offer from someone who wants Camelot's assets... all of them. Sequel to "A Once and Future Destiny" and "The Emrys Strain".
1. Domesticated

**Chapter 1: Domesticated**

Merlin stood on the edge of a stage in the middle of a grand auditorium, his back to the empty seats, facing toward the curtained area in the back. All was blackness, save for center stage, harsh-lit in white.

Arthur stood center stage, casual in jeans and a t-shirt and tennis shoes – and in his hand was the immortal blade Excalibur, the edge shining as it had when he'd seen it last. He was watching stage-right, calmly, expectantly. Footsteps sounded, steady, authoritative, and Uther Pendragon appeared, gaunt and grim under the spotlight. He was armed as well, and didn't hesitate to attack his son.

Merlin opened his mouth, and nothing came out. No shout of warning, no director's instructions. His face serene, Arthur's body flowed into instinctive defense, blocking each strike as though the battle was choreographed, rehearsed. But for the rage and hate that shone from his father's eyes. They spun past each other, steps sure as a dance, and then it wasn't Uther, nor yet Thomas Drake that fought to kill Arthur, but an unknown man, seen only from behind, silver hair and impeccable black suit, and his moves flowed faster and faster until Merlin's heart was in his throat, his body and his magic, like his voice, frozen.

Gwen's voice rose in song from the darkness, _Hello young lovers, wherever you are, I hope your troubles are few_…

Arthur, face now tense, leaped up and kicked his opponent in the chest, knocking him down. Gwaine and Leon slid into view, prone on the stage floor, to grasp the older man's arms, stretch his body between them, as Arthur stood over the older man, raising Excalibur over his head.

Merlin's head turned to the side of its own volition, and there was Freya, standing very close to him and watching the scene unfold. She held a wrapped bundle in her arms, jouncing it slightly and humming along with Gwen's song.

_ All my good wishes go with you tonight, I've been in love like you…_

Arthur gave a cry of pain, dropping Excalibur to clatter on the stage as he bent over his left side, and a spot of blood appeared on the white t-shirt. Gwaine and Leon both raised their heads to stare at the king.

From the darkness, a chorus hissed, _Run, Eliza, run – run_! Beside him, Freya's eyes widened, and she looked from Arthur to Merlin with slow and utter terror. Merlin's hand rose, and she darted away, the blanketed baby screaming in sudden panic in her arms. _Run, Eliza, run – run_! the malicious whisper continued.

A single light came up to the side, and there was Gwen, radiant with expectant new life, voice throaty with emotion but still so true on the notes. _Don't cry young lovers, whatever you do, don't cry because I'm alone_… Arthur gave another agonizing cry as blood poured freely now from the rent in his shirt, and turned to run also, as Freya whisked past him with the wailing infant. _Run, Eliza, run!_

_No_! Merlin screamed, and took a step back. His toes landed on the edge of the stage – but not his heel. He tipped backward into darkness, falling, falling…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin's phone beeped on the desk next to the bed. Again. He groaned and pushed his arm out from under the blue-and-white striped blanket, flinging the corner of it back over his body, and eyed the blinking red message light on the phone before calling it to his hand.

It was the second message from Arthur.

The first one was twelve minutes ago, and read, **U bsy ths a.m? Need u at th house**. The second one that was just received read, **M! Sos! Need u here asap!**

His pulse quickened and he shot out of bed, changing into a clean pair of jeans and a dark blue t-shirt, texting back **Am coming!** as he tried not to fall headlong down the stairs.  
Gaius turned from the computer with a creak of the swivel chair, gave him a curious look over the top of his black-rimmed glasses as he hurried to the kitchen. "You're up early," he remarked, "especially after last night." Merlin rummaged in a cupboard for a fruit-and-granola bar, then turned to fill a travel mug with still-hot coffee from the pot.

"Arthur needs me," he explained, stooping to ruffle the fur of the white Scottie in greeting. Better than lying in bed sweating through another nightmare, anyway.

"On Saturday?" Gaius asked incredulously. Merlin shrugged, calling his keys to his hand from the rack of hooks on the wall. "But, Merlin, what about –"

"I haven't forgotten," he called back as he headed down the front hall. "I'll drive the Prius today, and get the oil changed and stop at Safeway on my way home."

"Merlin! When will that be?" Gaius' voice floated to him as he opened the front door.

"I'll call you when I know!" he hollered back.

Gaius' silver Prius was parked next to the black Pathfinder that Merlin had driven for the past two years, outside the townhouse. It was a ten minute drive to the home of Arthur and Gwen Drake in Groveton, southwest of Old Town Commons down Kings Highway. Merlin made it in five.

It was almost three years since the knights and Merlin had helped Arthur and Gwen move from temporary quarters in the Drake mansion. Green shoots were poking up in Gwen's flowerbeds around the porch; Merlin grinned briefly, remembering the former queen on hands and knees, wearing a dirty pair of gardening gloves and brandishing a trowel at Percival and Gwaine, directing them in the placement of a flowering cherry tree.

Warning Merlin to keep his magic out of her flowers. She wanted all the credit, thank you very much.

This spring, he wondered, as he came up the walk and leaped the three steps to the porch, maybe she would let him tend her precious flowers. He didn't think it would be high on her priority list this year.

The front door was unlocked and he poked his head in. "Arthur?" he called. "Gwen?" There was a murmur and a muffled clatter from the short hallway that led to the master bedroom to the right. Merlin shut the front door behind him, kicked off his shoes next to the thick brown rug protecting the polished wood floor just inside the front door.

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed thunderously, appearing at the end of the hall and stalking forward as he spoke. "Where have you been? Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Merlin said. "Why? What's the big emer-" He stopped suddenly, realizing that Arthur's upraised hands were encased in bright yellow rubber gloves. And in his right, brandished like a mace, a toilet scrubber. "Oh, _hell_, no," Merlin protested, backing away. "Not in this lifetime, Arthur Pendragon." He couldn't help a wide mocking grin. "You can clean your _own_ throne –"

Arthur gave him a glare half-offended and half-amused, then hurled the toilet brush with as much deadly accuracy as he'd ever displayed on the training grounds of Camelot, right for Merlin's head. Merlin froze the toilet brush in midair about a foot away.

The brush, but not the water droplets clinging to the bristles, which continued, showering over Merlin's face and the front of his t-shirt. He sputtered, "Oh, that's disgusting!" and lifted his shirt to wipe his face.

"Be glad," Arthur said with malicious glee, "that it wasn't a bucket of scrub water over your head!"

In the space of a thought, the toilet brush spun back toward Arthur. The former king ducked, but that did him little good when it began to whack him emphatically about the head and shoulders.

"Merlin!" The voice of outraged dignity was not Arthur's, but Gwen's. The toilet brush froze midair, dripping. "And Arthur!"

Arthur plucked the brush from its position, and threw Merlin a look over his shoulder. "Give me a minute," he said.

Merlin shook the last of the water droplets from his hair as he moved into the carpeted area of the living room, relieved that the emergency hadn't been more… well, life-threatening. "I came because I thought you needed my help," he called after his friend. "But there's no way that I'm going to –" He stopped as Gwen made her way from the hallway into the living room.  
He knew the due date as they all did – April 19, it was five weeks yet almost to the day. And no one knew better than Merlin when Gwen had a bad night, because it affected Arthur's mood the next day. She had both hands pressed against the back of her hips and leaned backward when she stepped. Her customary twinkle was missing, replaced by weary smudges under her eyes. And instead of some cute maternity jeans and blouse, she was dressed in Arthur's clothes, a pair of old gray sweatpants and shirt with the faded logo of Brown University.

And in spite of all that –

He spoke without thinking, "Gwen, you look –"

"Merlin, you best choose your next word very carefully," she said in a low, menacing tone that was almost playful. "Or so help me, I will –"

"You look _radiant_," he said simply, and it was true. He almost had to squint to look at her, the glow was so sunny. He gave her his widest grin, and pretended to shield his eyes.

She looked at him a moment in astonishment, and then she burst into tears.

"Gwen, I'm sorry, I didn't mean –"

"Oh, Merlin, it's not you," she sobbed, waving his apology away impatiently. "I can't _sleep_ at night. I haven't laid on my stomach in _months_ and when I lay on my back I can't breathe and I worry about the baby's weight restricting his own blood supply and when I lay on my right side he puts his feet way up in my ribs and _pushes_ –"

"Who, Arthur?" Merlin teased her gently, and she smiled through her tears.

"No… but when I lay on my left side then Arthur breathes in my face all night…"

"I said I was sorry," Arthur said, half grumpy, half apologetic, coming out from their bedroom, wiping his forehead on the shoulder of his faded red t-shirt, cleaning supplies in hand.

"Is that why I'm here?" Merlin prompted, "I can put a sleeping spell on you if you like, Gwen, a couple hours guaranteed, no interruptions."

She clutched his arm and mashed her face into his shoulder, mumbling, "_Lifesaver_."

"How many more days are you working at the doctor's office?" Merlin said.

They answered together, "Fifteen." And Arthur added, "Three weeks." Gwen made a noise like a complaining whimper, and turned to shuffle back into the bedroom.

"Sleep is important, but an SOS?" Merlin teased. "If you need a sorcerer to ensure marital bliss –"

Arthur growled. "I promised Gwen I'd do the housecleaning for her today, and she promised Percival and Kathryn that we'd take care of Katy til this afternoon so they could go into D.C. for a day-trip, and _then_ my father called."

Merlin sighed. "So I'm not here to clean bathrooms or work sleep-spells, but to babysit?"

Arthur said sternly, "You _cannot_ deny that you're her favorite uncle."

It was true. Katy herself would tell everyone who would listen that she "woved Unca Mewin." Her actual uncles, Percival's brothers, were still in their early teens and had no patience for their two-year-old niece.

Merlin sighed. "You could have just _said_ –"

Arthur set the bucket down, stripping off the yellow rubber gloves and checking his watch. "I have to leave five minutes ago," he said. "And I still have to get cleaned up." He headed back the way he'd come, and Merlin followed. Arthur bent over the mound on the big bed that was Gwen and baby, murmuring to her. Then he brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her twice before heading to the walk-in closet at the other end of the room.

"Any last words, Gwen?" Merlin said lightly from the doorway.

"_Goodnight_," Gwen mumbled, and Merlin smiled as he whispered the words of the spell. It could be done silently at a pinch, but the spoken incantation seemed to last longer, for whatever reason.

"What are you going to do when it's the actual baby keeping you up at night?" he said aloud to Arthur.

"Well, she won't be working all day, then," Arthur said, reappearing briefly to carry his clean clothes into the bathroom. "She and Junior can take it as easy as they like, all day and all night."

The front doorbell chimed. Merlin said, "I'll get it."

"Probably Perce and Kathryn," Arthur reminded him, and shut the bathroom door.

It was Katy, standing on tiptoe to reach the doorbell, pressing it over and over until he opened the door. "Hey, Katy-did," he said.

"Unca Mewin!" She wrapped herself around his leg and began jumping up and down at the same time, rocking them both in her exuberance. He gripped the lintel so he wouldn't lose his balance.

Kathryn, glowing only slightly less radiantly than Gwen, stopped at the bottom of the steps and said in surprise, "Oh, Merlin! I didn't know you'd be here."

"Slight change of plans," he told her, grinning and rubbing Katy's soft brown curls. "Gwen's sleeping and Arthur's –"

"Another bad night? Is she all right?" Kathryn said, bending backwards a little herself and unconsciously rubbing the side of her own extended belly just below her ribs on the right side. She had three or four months to go, herself.

"She will be," Merlin said.

Kathryn cocked an eyebrow at him. "It doesn't really get any easier with the baby on the _outside_, you know," she told him. "Katy, you be good for Uncle Merlin, okay?"

The little girl was balancing with both her Minnie Mouse tennis shoes on top of his sock-covered foot. "Okay," she said agreeably.

"She has her Hello-Kitty cup in her backpack," Kathryn told Merlin, and he noticed the tiny pink accessory over Katy's shoulders. "She doesn't like the sippy anymore, but only fill it half full and make her sit down to drink or she'll spill. Her blankie is in there too, if she gets tired, and a pull-up for just in case." Kathryn laughed at the look on his face and reassured him, "She can manage by herself in the bathroom, she just needs to be reminded to go. We'll pick her up around four o'clock, probably. Bye, baby."

"Bye, Mama!" Katy said, waving, then yelled, "Bye, dad-dad!" at the Silverado idling at the curb.

"Have fun in D.C.," Merlin called after Kathryn, then saluted Percival, who bent to wave through the open passenger-side window.

Arthur emerged from the bedroom as Merlin shut the front door. Katy sat down on Merlin's foot, wrapping arms and legs around his lower leg and giggling gleefully as he dragged her along the floor into the kitchen, following Arthur.

"Did your father say what he wanted to see you about?" Merlin asked, as Arthur buttoned the top button of his collared gray Henley and turned to empty the coffee pot into a mug and snap on a lid. Merlin seated himself on a bar stool and began swinging Katy on his foot.

"Probably everything," Arthur grumbled. "The latest job for the NSA, the branch opening, the –" He paused, then made a face at Merlin. "The shortcomings of the nursing staff and why can't he go home."

Merlin made a sympathetic noise. Thomas Drake had not adjusted well after suffering a series of debilitating strokes the previous summer. He retained partial use of his left side, spoke in slurred and broken sentences, and routinely forgot details, events, and decisions alike.

It had been hard for Arthur to manage a kingdom with Uther Pendragon sitting catatonic in his bedroom, but Merlin privately thought it even harder for his friend to manage the Camelot Technologies empire with Thomas Drake still clinging determinedly to a power he was no longer capable of wielding.

"Is Leon going?" Merlin asked. Leon was the only other that Thomas Drake tolerated in his presence.

"Not today. He's going with his sister's family to the Baltimore Aquarium."

"Which is why you didn't ask him to babysit," Merlin said. Leon's four-year-old nephew got along pretty well with Katy, and was often a playmate.

"It'll probably be after lunch when I get back," Arthur predicted, grabbing his wallet and keys, coffee mug in hand, and heading for the door that led from kitchen to garage by way of a laundry/storage area.

"Good luck," Merlin told him, and when the door shut and the noises of the engine of the Mustang and the garage door had died away, he contemplated the little girl trying to peel off his sock. "What do you want to do this morning?" he asked.

"Sambox," she told him authoritatively. "You wanna go da pawk?"

"Let's," he agreed, "go to the park."

There was a small neighborhood park just beyond the bounds of the yard, one of the reasons Arthur and Gwen had decided to buy the house. Katy skipped and swung Merlin's hand by his pinkie finger until they reached the sandbox. Then, because there was no one else at the park, Merlin consented to Katy's demand for him to "Biwd a cassoo." They used up all the sand in the box,, Merlin's magic guiding and pushing and shaping the grains to form not only the citadel of Camelot, but the lower town as well. Katy greeted each addition enthusiastically, and set about pushing sticks through leaves to make "fwags" for the top of the towers.

She was pushing two small rock "cows" – Merlin didn't ask her to clarify if she meant "cow" or "car" – through the streets, when a young woman with a little boy arrived at the far end of the park.

Mindful as ever of the secret, Merlin withdrew his magic slowly and carefully, and without it, the castle began to crumble. "Uh-oh, Unca Mewin," Katy said cheerfully. "It's bweaking."

The little boy, around four or five, struggled upward into a swing and began kicking vigorously to achieve some height. The young woman seated herself on a park bench just behind the swingset with a book.

Katy's "cows" became "dad-dad's tants" and plowed their way through Camelot's crumbling walls, complete with little-girl sound effects. _Well, that's what you play when your dad's in the army_, Merlin thought, remembering the sandbox in his own childhood park, and Will directing their rows of matchbox "tanks" around the four-foot-square desert.

He glanced up to check idly on the progress of the energetic swing-rider, and was about to suggest a change of activity to Katy when the little boy leaned too far back into his next kick, and lost his grip on the chains supporting the swing.

Merlin acted instinctively, freezing boy and swing mid-air, and the mother too for good measure. Then he stood, brushed the sand from his hands and jeans and made his way to the boy just starting to fall. He positioned himself into a reasonably believable running dive, then released his hold on this little bubble of the world.

The boy came crashing down with a shout, and Merlin grunted as he was knocked over on the wood-chip play-surface. "Oh my goodness!" said the mother, looking up from her book, then dropping it and jumping up from the bench.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said breathlessly, righting the boy and himself. "I saw he was going to fall and –"

"Lila I falled!" the boy crowed victoriously, resisting her efforts to brush him off and check for scrapes.

"Thank you, thank you so much," the young woman – not the mother, then, if the child used her first name – gushed to Merlin, who shrugged it off self-consciously.

"Right place at the right time," he said with an easy grin. "Glad I could help."

"I didn't even see you come over here," she said. "Thank you, again. Are you new to the neighborhood?"

"No, I don't live here," he said. "I'm babysitting for a friend." He glanced back to see Katy put her Minnie Mouse shoe right through the front gate of Camelot.

"_You're_ babysitting?" she asked. "That's an – impressive sand castle."

Merlin shrugged. "It's sometimes nice to spend the day with a little kid," he said. "It's uncomplicated."

"Mm," she said. "I hear you. Me and Toby get out of the house as much as possible, it's about the only time I get a chance to read a book."

"Katy!" Merlin called. "Not in your hair." Katy considered a moment, then let the sand pour from her handfuls over the legs of her pants instead.

"And you don't have kids?" the young woman asked. He gave her a shy smile and shook his head. "Not married either, I see," she added, pointing at his left hand.

His smile widened. "Not yet," he said.

She laughed knowingly. "What's keeping you?"

"Oh, just – stuff," he said. "My girl is perfect, but –" he shrugged. "I'm not."

"Hm." She gave him a sharp but amused up-and-down glance. "What's wrong with you?"

"Katy!" he said again. "Not in your hair!" He gave the young woman an apologetic smile. "Her mother'll kill me if she has to wash sand out of that hair tonight," he said, moving away.

"Thank you again for your quick reflexes," she said, and he nodded, strolling back to Katy by the sandbox.

"Time to go home," he informed the little girl, who scuffed her shoes through every inch of the sandbox before hopping cheerfully out and latching onto his hand again.

The back of his neck prickled, and he didn't understand it. He glanced back over his shoulder, and though the young woman's book was again open in front of her, her eyes were on him and her smile was slyly triumphant.

Reaching the front door of Arthur and Gwen's house, he paused to use his mind's eye to gaze over the park without turning around, but Lila and Toby were gone.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Jewwy," Katy decided, kicking her feet against the bar stool and sipping apple juice from her Hello-Kitty cup.

"Jelly with peanut butter?" Merlin proposed, scooping grape jelly from the jar to the slice of bread waiting on a paper plate on the counter to the right of the sink in the Drake's kitchen.

"Jewwy wif… jewwy!" she said energetically.

"Double jelly, coming up," he promised.

From the next room came a soft shuffle and a grunt. "Gwen?" he called, and went to the doorway, sticky spreading knife in hand. "You want a sandwich?"

Gwen was arranging herself in the recliner, one throw pillow under her knees, one behind her back. "You don't have to, Merlin," she said wearily, bending to one side, then the other. "Where is that control?"

"For the –" he said.

"For this heating pad," she said, patting it into place against her back. He called the connected control out of its hiding place beneath the back corner of the chair, and it rose to her hand. "Thanks," she sighed, giving him a grateful look. "Do you and Freya have plans tonight?"

"No, not tonight," he said, heading back toward the kitchen.

"Did you go out last night?" she persisted, and he paused, giving her a smile.

"Not last night," he said.

Katy had jelly across her face from ear to ear. "Izzat samwich for Keen Ghen?" the little girl asked, as Merlin folded the bread and prepared to carry the plate and the tall glass of ice-water back to the living room.

"Yes, indeed, Katy-did," he called back over his shoulder. "Queen Gwen, pb and j."

"Oh, Merlin, you went all out," Gwen laughed softly, and he made her a proper bow to see her smile widen.

"Fine china for Her Majesty, as well," he said. "Or, at least, _Chinette_."

"I'm sorry," she said, and he looked back at her. "It was the third Friday, wasn't it?"

He nodded, and because he didn't want to talk about it anymore with Gwen, who was particularly intuitive in matters of the heart, he joined Katy at the high counter. It was nice, after all, to spend some time with someone so sweetly uncomplicated, and it was just what he needed, today.

After lunch, Merlin bickered with Katy over what movie to watch for "quiet time."

"Waddin," Katy said, crossing her small arms over the worn pink blankie clutched to her chest and scowling.

"We always watch that one," Merlin complained, grinning to Gwen, who hadn't moved from the recliner except to shift her weight.

"I _wove_ Waddin," Katy informed him, and he sighed, snapping the disc from its case and inserting it into the player.

"Why do you love Aladdin?" Gwen asked, clapping her hands and opening her arms in invitation.

Katy didn't hesitate to climb up into the armchair. "I wove maddick," the little girl said, as if the fact should have been obvious.

"Magic, huh?" Gwen said. "Merlin?"

He shrugged and hit _Play_, and came to stretch out on the couch. "You better not be getting sand on my couch," Gwen warned him.

"I'll vacuum later," he promised sleepily.

Katy stayed with Gwen on the recliner until the second appearance of the Cave of Wonders, Aladdin's trip deep into the belly of the sand tiger with monkey Abu on his shoulder. Then, when the attempted theft of the giant ruby caused the cave to try to ingest Aladdin and Abu in golden lava, Katy squeaked with fear and scrambled from the armchair in favor of seating herself on Merlin's uppermost hip. He grunted in response to her weight.

"Sleeping here, Katy-did," he mumbled.

"Wake up and save her from the scary part, then." Gwen groaned, easing the recliner back and letting her own eyes drift shut.

Katy watched in wide-eyed silence a few moments more, then, as Aladdin began to rub the lamp, she pounded her little fist against his ribs. "Unca Mewin," she whispered, her eyes glued to the screen. "Maddick, Unca Mewin."

"This part again?" he said, opening one eye.

"Doooo maddick!" she demanded excitedly.

"_Master_!" said the genie in Robin Williams' voice. "_Why don't you ruminate, whilst I illuminate the possibilities_…"

Merlin groaned, and Katy giggled, and he half-opened his eyes and began to whisper as the song got into full swing, Friend Like Me. Complete with showering sparkles and coins and dancing flame-camels, Merlin depicted the magic show from the television on the coffee table in the middle of the sitting area.

"Merlin!" Gwen murmured a token protest, and Katy laughed and bounced, and clapped her hands when the cartoon sign encouraged, _Applause, Applause_.

"Be glad she didn't want to watch Sword in the Stone," Merlin growled at Gwen, who chuckled.

He drowsed what seemed like a handful of minutes until the music announced the triumphal parade of new-made Prince Ali, and Katy began to wiggle and demand, "Maddick, Unca Mewin!"

"Last time, Katy-did," he warned her, and as she jumped down to dance around the room he duplicated the conjuration of the entire parade. By the time the evil vizier shoved the last of it out the door, even Gwen was giggling delightedly.

"No wonder you're her favorite," Gwen said to Merlin.

"Mm," he said. "It's exhausting." He shifted to his back and flung one arm over his eyes.

Should have learned his lesson, falling asleep with an old musical on, last night. He wasn't actually asleep, part of his brain keeping time with the cartoon he knew nearly by heart, thanks to Percival's little daughter. Bits and pieces of it struck him, preventing complete relaxation.

"_Why did you lie to me? Did you think I was stupid? That I wouldn't figure it out?"_

"_No, I mean, I – hoped you wouldn't. No – that's not what I meant."_

"_Who are you? Tell me the truth!"_

"_The truth? The truth…um… the truth is…"_

His weary brain confused the picture, providing conflicting scenes, in which Arthur demanded the truth of him, and then it was Freya, questioning _Who are you_? Waiting for an answer, turning to flee from him, clutching a blanket-wrapped bundle that squalled – _Run, Eliza, run_!

_I've gotta stop pretending to be something I'm not_. Or, I've gotta stop pretending not to be something I am.

_You've certainly proven your worth as far as I'm concerned_. Arthur's voice, ironic and amused. Alone on the spot-lit stage in the middle of a vast darkness. _It's that law that's the problem…_ He spun Excalibur at his side as he always had, in readiness for an attack.

_Just say the word_, Merlin called to him, _and you're a prince again_.

Arthur gave him a tired, gentle smirk, and held his arms out to each side. _All your magic_… Blood dripped down the white t-shirt from a tear high on the left side. _And you can't save my life_.

_I'm history… No, I'm mythology… _Merlin tried to move, tried to run to Arthur's side. His foot slipped and he fell backward, off the stage and into the darkness. _And you can't save my life…_

Merlin woke, gasping for breath. Arthur leaned over the back of the couch above him, wearing an amused expression. "Did we lose you?" he said sarcastically.

Onscreen, the blue genie pointed a mocking finger. "_Made you look_."

**A/N: So here is the first chapter of the 3****rd**** installment of the series. Probably future chapters will be longer, but right now no idea how many, I did my outline a little differently this time. But at least 12. And maybe every 3****rd**** day update?**

**This first chapter is… what I call 'ominously fluffy.'**

**And here is my warning, disclaimer, what have you – this is the last of the series. That's it. Three. Uno, dos, tres. No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds. And ixnay on wishes for more wishes… :D**


	2. Committed

**Chapter 2: Committed**

Thomas Drake was an entire list of paradoxes. Arthur paused at the door of the private room in HealthSouth Rehab, halfway ajar, to watch his father.

In a place where most residents wore robes and slippers every day, Thomas Drake insisted on his own "office-casual" dresscode, though he received no visitors but Arthur, and Leon if Arthur brought him, by his own directive. He was invariably positioned in his chair by the window, refusing even to consider the use of the wheelchair, folded and stowed behind the closet door. He took all his meals alone in the room, and the one time Arthur ignored his commands and physically placed his father in the wheelchair for a visit to the garden outside the window where he sat day after day, Thomas Drake signed a DNR and called his lawyer to begin amending his will to exclude his only son.

"Good morning, Father," he said finally, pushing the door open the enter the room.

Thomas Drake flinched but didn't turn. He never did, keeping the lax side of his face hidden as he gazed through the window. "Arthrr," he acknowledged, voice heavy with disapproval.

Arthur smirked to himself. He was used to it by now; his father was always displeased at his arrival, though it was a toss-up whether the older man would complain about the uninvited interruption, forgetting about his call earlier, or about –

"Yrrr late," Thomas Drake added. "Sit… down."

Arthur took the chair opposite his father, clasping his hands together and leaning over his knees. It had taken him some months to discover the attitude that irritated his father least, not overly solicitous but not completely callous. Inconspicuous patience. Respectful, but still treating Thomas Drake as though he were undiminished.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Arthur said. "The baby gave Gwen a hard time last night."

Thomas Drake gave no sign that he'd heard. He never betrayed the least interest in his daughter-in-law or the grand-baby on the way, but Arthur stubbornly insisted on passing along bits of relevant news, hoping that some part of his father, deep down, appreciated at least _knowing_.

"How is… the company?"

"Camelot is continuing very successful, Father," Arthur assured him, calling relevant statistics to mind. He never knew when his father might require him to know these details, or even whether they made any impression on his memory, but the recital seemed to satisfy Thomas Drake. "I've heard that –"

"I called… yesterday," his father said. "I was told… Rick Hennessy handles Camelot… Technologies."

"Yes, that's true," Arthur said, sighing. This was something he'd explained to his father at least three times. "Rick and I meet every other week to discuss the bigger issues or questions, otherwise, I let him manage the company, so I can devote my time and energy and attention to building Camelot Securities –"

"Camelot…Securities," Thomas Drake scoffed bitterly.

"We've got a new branch opening next week, in Seattle," Arthur began, unintentionally interrupting his father's slower speech.

Thomas Drake glared at him. "Glorified… errand-boys, for your… N…SA-gent."

Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out. "It's been two months since we've done any work for the NSA," he told his father neutrally. "And seven since we've been out-of-state."

His father snorted. "My company," he sneered, "is a j-" He stuck on the sound just as a stutterer might, and Arthur waited as he always did, pretending not to notice. "Joke to you, isn't it?" his father finally managed, red-faced with frustration. "You don't ap – apr – you're not grateful at… all, for what I've given you. At your age, I was…" his voice drifted away again. "At your age, I was…"

Arthur sighed again. Healing was a question that had never been discussed between him and Merlin. He knew his friend would be willing to do all he could, magically, for Thomas Drake, in spite of the old man's animosity, for Arthur's sake. But Arthur's father wouldn't hear of anyone else even entering the room. Arthur didn't know if Merlin would be able to make the slightest difference, much less restore Thomas Drake completely, and he told himself, _there are lots of people who have to adjust and make-do after a stroke, without a powerful sorcerer's healing spellwork, so can we_.

He was aware, also, that he had never examined the question of whether he wanted Thomas Drake fully restored. His father had not seemed any happier as acting CEO.

"I do appreciate your hard work with Camelot Technologies, Father," he said softly. "The board is well-pleased with the profit margins and growth rate. But my interests are broader than simply making money or expanding influence."

Thomas Drake stared blankly out the window. "Rick ssssaid, you refused to discuss a… request for an ad – adv-" he stuck on the 'v' sound, paused to search for another word, then finally forced out, "vantageous merger." He breathed angrily for a moment as the rising color receded again. "Halbyon Incorporated."

Arthur's heart dropped right to his shoes, and he swore internally. Of all the things he _didn't_ want Thomas Drake to know about.

He said blandly, hoping that this might be one of the details that would fall through the cracks of his father's faulty memory, "Halbyon Incorporated has long sought an affiliation with us. It's nothing new, and while it might be mildly beneficial, certainly nothing to jump at without careful consideration."

"A w-" Thomas Drake grimaced, "wwwidespread and well-known human resources supplier, placing professional and wwwwell-trained assets in high positions of commerce, marketing, government, defense, and law… enforcement." He sneered again. "Aside from the benefits to Camelot… Technologies, it is an offer that your… Securities office should be… drooling over." For an instant, Thomas Drake's eyes sharpened, and Arthur winced. "I wonder – why not," he added softly.

Arthur gritted his teeth and answered swiftly, honestly, and pleasantly, "I find I don't trust the upper management of Halbyon Incorporated. I am suspicious that they have not been aboveboard with me concerning all the company's interests, what they seek in a merger, or how they envision the final result operating. I am happy keeping Camelot small, if it means the control is entirely in my own hands."

"Keeping Camelot small," Thomas Drake spat. "I spoke to my lllllawyer only last week, and he assured me that my s-" the old man pressed his lips together, the right side, as always, drooping down, and gave his head an impatient shake. "My signature still counts for something. Rick thinks the merger should be a… clear green light. I want an-an-an-" he ground his teeth and took a breath, "a_nnouncement_ by summer. Or I will make it happen."

Arthur said, as always, "Yes, father." Perhaps Thomas Drake would forget Halbyon again by the next time Arthur visited.

"Now, wwwhen am I going home?" his father demanded.

"Maybe in a few months, the doctors said," Arthur told him, in a soothing but respectful voice. As he had told him for ten months. He spoke vaguely of motor function and cognitive testing and a new medication the physician wanted to test, and…

Thomas Drake waved a hand wearily to silence his son. "Leave me now, Arthur," he said.

Arthur suspected he would never be content with an answer that wasn't, _You're to leave today, right now, immediately_. He suspected that answer would never be the one Thomas Drake would hear.

The cost of a private room in this exclusive facility, round-the-clock care and attendant professionals, would cost Arthur three times as much to secure for his father at home, plus the expense of fitting the mansion for wheelchair access. It would still be a necessity, and it would still be refused. He could only imagine the headache of keeping a team he trusted hired and happy to serve a hard-to-please patient like his father, while here every attendant took Thomas Drake's attitude in stride. Besides the fact that there would be company available if his father would ever consent to be taken to the dining hall or any one of the recreation rooms. At the mansion there would be nothing.

And despite the encouraging words he spoke to his father, Arthur had been warned by more than one specialist that the prognosis for further recovery of physical or mental capacity was extremely poor.

This was to be Thomas Drake's life, for as long as it might last.

He sighed again. "Call me if you need me," he said, as always. As always, Thomas Drake acknowledged the farewell with a negligent twitch of his fingers.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

For a moment Arthur rested his back against the kitchen side of the hall door, hearing the sounds of a cartoon from the living room, appreciating the warm lighting and comfortable décor of his own home. His own life, his own family. He took a deep breath, letting muscles and nerves – tense from the moment his phone had chimed the incoming call from his father – finally relax.

Kicking off his shoes, he wandered into the living room where Percival's daughter was sitting on her knees on the carpet, two feet from the television screen. Gwen was motionless in the recliner, eyes half-open, and Merlin's shaggy black hair showed over one arm of the couch.

He came up behind Gwen and tucked his arms down next to her. She smiled and turned her face to meet his kiss. "How did it go?" she asked softly.

He grimaced and shrugged. "How did it go here?" he asked in the same low voice, then nodded toward the prone figure of his sorcerer. "How long has that lazy-bones been sleeping?"

"Only a few minutes, I think," Gwen whispered. "He was out with Katy all morning, and yesterday was the third Friday."

Arthur rolled his eyes sympathetically and left Gwen in the recliner to lean over the back of the couch. On the tv, the prince and princess rode into a sunset on a magic carpet. On the couch, Merlin's brows drew down, his sleep troubled. His left arm was thrown back the arm of the couch, the one long scar on his wrist visible below the wide band of the watch Freya had given him for his last birthday.

"Hey," Arthur said, poking his friend gently in the ribs. "Movie's over, Merlin."

"Just let him sleep, Arthur," Gwen protested lazily.

Under his hand, Merlin's whole body tensed abruptly, and his eyes shot open, the brilliant blue overwhelmed in terror as he gasped for breath like a drowning man.

"Did we lose you?" Arthur said, pretending to be amused to cover his concern.

Merlin glanced in confusion at the tv, where the genie snatched the film-roll aside to tease, "_Made you look_."

"You all right?" Arthur said, moving back as Merlin flung his arms to the sides to struggle upright. He rubbed his face with his hands, making an incongruously cheerful noise of assent.

The doorbell rang and Arthur went to answer it, opening the door to Percival's wide-but-quiet grin. "We're early," he said. "Kathryn overestimated how long she'd want to be on her feet today."

"Dad-dad!" Katy called, jumping up and running to the door. Percival's grin widened even further, and he caught his small daughter on the fly, lifting her easily to brush her curly hair against the lintel of the door. She giggled and Arthur couldn't help smiling, even as something flipped nervously in the pit of his stomach.

"Hey, Gwen, Merlin," Percival called, settling his daughter in the crook of his arm, against his chest. "Was my baby a good baby?"

"She's the life of the party," Merlin said, coming out from behind the couch.

Gwen stuck her foot in front of Merlin's knee so that the recliner swiveled to face the door as he moved. "She's always good as gold," she assured Percival. "Did you and Kathryn have fun?"

"Yeah, but she's ready to get home again," the big knight said. "Where'd you leave your backpack, Katy? Go get it," he instructed the little girl, setting her down.

"It's in the kitchen by the counter," Merlin said. As he glanced into the other room, Arthur caught the stray gleam of magic from his friend's eyes, and the tiny pink backpack came soaring through the doorway between the rooms, bobbing on airwaves right to Katy's waiting arms.

"Merlin," Percival said.

"What? Oh, you wanted her to –" Merlin grinned sheepishly and yawned. "Sorry."

Percival shook his head. "No wonder you're the favorite," he said. "Katy, say thank-you to Uncle Merlin."

"Tants for da maddick, Unca Mewin!" Katy said. "Bye, Keen Ghen! Bye, Kin Arfur!"

"How do you not love that?" Arthur said aloud.

"Bye, love," Gwen said from the chair, beaming.

Merlin scuffed across the wood floor in his socks and passed Arthur at the door, following Percival down the porch steps. Arthur began to shut the door behind them, but paused at Percival's next words.

"Do you want me to tell Kathryn?" the big knight demanded of the young sorcerer as his little daughter ran across the lawn. "Or are you trying to get Katy in trouble? Kathryn thinks it's just a game you play with Katy, 'Uncle Merlin's magic', but before too long –"

"Why haven't you ever told her?" Merlin asked more quietly, as Kathryn emerged from the Silverado at the curb, opening the suicide door to the bench seat in back.

"Arthur?" Gwen hissed from the chair, and he waved her a signal to hush and wait.

"You mean that the joke is the truth?" Percival said. "That she married an actual knight of the Round Table?" They watched Kathryn help Katy climb to her car seat. The big knight shrugged. "We've known each other almost all of this lifetime. It doesn't change who I am now. She knows me, and –" as he turned to Merlin Arthur could see half of the big man's smile – "she loves me anyway. Telling her would – unnecessarily complicate things. Worry her, you know. If she even believed me."

"Pete!" Kathryn yelled. "I want to get home to my foot spa!" She seated herself on the passenger seat and swung her legs in together, reaching back out for the door handle.

Percival headed down the walk. "She's happy thinking it's a joke," he said. "She's happy, then I'm happy. I guess it'll come up sometime…"

"And when it does?" Merlin called after him.

Percival rounded the back of the truck. "Then I'll tell her!"

Merlin began to turn, and Arthur skidded frantically across the wood floor to reach Gwen, watching him from the armchair with curious amusement. And when Merlin stepped inside, Arthur was on his knees beside Gwen, his head on her lap, her fingers petting his hair. They watched Merlin cram his feet into his shoes beside the rug.

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Merlin?" Gwen said. "There's chicken marinating in the fridge. I can boil some corn-on-the-cob and there's a box of Texas toast in the freezer, that'll only take a minute in the oven."

"I told Gaius I'd get his oil changed, and pick up some things at Safeway," Merlin said.

"Bring him over after you're done," Gwen offered.

Merlin's eyes went to Arthur for confirmation of the invitation, and Arthur nodded. Merlin had somehow managed to have a nightmare, asleep for a few minutes on the living room couch, with a children's movie playing. And it had been the third Friday.

"Okay, I'll be back," Merlin promised, backing out the door.

"How was your dad?" Gwen said after a moment of silence, running her fingers the wrong way through his hair as he relaxed against the side of the chair.

"Same," he mumbled against her knee. Except for the idea of the merger. He'd strangle Rick Hennessy for suggesting it, Rick was under orders to keep any and all information about Halbyon in strict confidence. "Did Merlin say anything about yesterday?"

"Not with Katy here," Gwen reminded him. "Are you going to ask him about it?"

Every third Friday of the month, Merlin spent an hour with a therapist after working hours at Camelot. He'd started with a once-a-week appointment after the abduction-torture-bombing of the Baltimore Thanksgiving marathon two and a half years ago, and that had dropped off gradually to an hour once a month. It was very casual, and very quiet. Merlin was, as Gaius had once said, a very private person. Only the four of them – he and Gwen, Gaius, and Freya – knew about it. And because Arthur was aware of Merlin's unspoken resolution to tell him no more lies, he didn't often ask about the monthly sessions.

The last couple of months, however, Merlin had seemed more on edge the week following. Arthur had deduced, both from Merlin's demeanor and from Gwen's comments, that something about the therapy had been causing friction between Merlin and Freya.

"Yeah," he said.

"Well," Gwen said, releasing the lever that held her feet in the air and wriggling herself close enough to the edge of the seat to stand. "I have to get cleaned up, before company comes… and _you_ have the shower to clean and the bedroom to dust, yet."

Arthur groaned.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was grill-tending on the back deck when Gaius and Merlin arrived. At the suggestion of increased movement, he glanced through the sliding glass door to see Gaius hug Gwen while simultaneously passing what looked like a fruit bouquet to her. Merlin was just behind his grandfather with a flat square box that suggested dessert balanced on one hand, smiling and happy.

A cold shiver crawled up his spine, the likes of which he hadn't felt in two and a half years. Sure, they'd accepted a handful of assignments for the NSA, investigations that had resulted in dangerous situations and close shaves. But nothing that generated this kind of profound foreboding. This was Merlin's kind of thing, Arthur grouched to himself. The funny feelings. But it seemed to him that Merlin may have begun to feel the same, and that was what was off about his friend.

He jumped as the slider opened, and squinted through the smoke wisping from the grill. Merlin stepped out to the deck in his socks, open Corona in hand, and slid the glass door shut behind him. "I've only just escaped with my wits intact," he joked.

Arthur shot back immediately, "Shouldn't have been too hard, you didn't have that many to start with."

Merlin ignored him. "Gaius asked Gwen about her last check-up." He shuddered.

Arthur smiled wryly. He also had learned way more than he'd ever wanted to about the female side of the process of reproduction the past eight months. "It'll be your turn soon enough," he assured his friend.

Merlin's body went so still, his face so blank that Arthur knew his words had somehow struck deep. But it was only for the briefest of moments, and Arthur was still mentally fumbling for the right words to say, the right question to ask, when Merlin turned a little too casually to look out over the back of the property, tipping the contents of the bottle of Corona into his mouth.

"So what did your dad have to say?" he asked Arthur.

Arthur snapped the grill tongs twice, then began adjusting the positioning of the chicken pieces on the grill as a smoky mesquite scent filled the air. "The usual," he said briefly. "I take the company for granted, et cetera, et cetera."

"Did he find out about Hennessy?" Merlin said.

One-half of the tongs sprang out of Arthur's grip, sending a piece of chicken flying. Merlin glanced golden at it, catching it, then returning it to the grill.

Dammit. Merlin's intuition was too keen for his own good, it was one of the reasons he wanted a tight lid kept on the Halbyon situation, and Rick Hennessy was the lynchpin, there. "You know my father never gave much credit to the Securities office," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Merlin turned and perched on the deck railing. "You know he's never going to approve of anything you do with his company," he said softly, his eyes blue and intense. "He wouldn't approve of anything anybody else would do with Camelot, either. It's not because it's _you_, it's because it's _not him_." Arthur didn't answer, just continued rearranging, flipping the meat on the grill. "Arthur," Merlin said, and a private smile lit his face. "You're a good boss. You're handling the company very well, and I know you'll continue to do great things, with Technologies and Securities, both. _And_," Merlin's mouth quirked mischievously, "you're going to be a _wonderful_ father."

"How do you know that?" Arthur scoffed, laying down the tongs and closing the lid of the grill.

"Because you _care_ about what kind of father you'll be," Merlin said.

"So you're saying, worrying proves I have nothing to worry about?" Arthur said, and Merlin nodded. "You know how backwards that sounds?" Merlin grinned around the rim of the bottle. "What about you, then?" Arthur asked.

Merlin choked on his mouthful of beer. "What do you mean?" he finally said.

"When are you going to get around to telling me what's been on your mind?" Arthur said. "It's a bit too early for you to worry about fatherhood." A strange shadow passed over Merlin's face, and Arthur remembered uncomfortably that Merlin had only had a handful of years experience with his own father, in either lifetime. "Gwen's noticed it," he continued. "Gaius probably has, too. Hell, even Freya –"

"I want to ask her to marry me," Merlin blurted, then blushed.

Arthur grinned. The knights had taken bets over a year ago, how long it would be before Merlin spoke up for Freya. Since he'd met her by the fountain in the mall, neither one of them had so much as looked at anyone else. "So what's the problem?" he teased. "You're not sure she'll say yes?"

Merlin tried not to smile, but not very hard. "She's been hinting pretty broadly for a while now, she wants to make things more definite."

"And you don't?" Arthur said. The look of desolation that passed over Merlin's face stunned him. He reached to turn the heat down on the grill. "What? Merlin, _what_?"

"It's – she's…" Merlin shook his head, leaning over his knees so Arthur could only see the untidy mop of his friend's black hair. "She's so perfect. Mom and dad married for thirty years, her brother in college and her sister teaching her first year of grade school. What do I bring to a marriage? There's nothing in my past but violence, no stability – I still see a damn psychiatrist every month…"

"Merlin," Arthur protested.

"_I've_ got nothing to offer someone like her," Merlin continued. He looked up, and his eyes were darker, harder. "You know how dangerous it gets for us, sometimes – you _know_ how dangerous it _could_ get for _me_."

"Merlin," Arthur said. "You're an idiot." Before his friend's scowl could deepen, he went on, "_Love_ is what you give her. You have this insane capacity for loyalty that any woman would be privileged to have dedicated to them. Gwen told me once, nothing else mattered for her but to know I truly loved her and always would. She'd run away with me to be a damn farmer, even. The security, that promise of faithfulness, that's what mattered. Not my lack of family, not my stubborn-ass father, not my job or prospects or education."

"This," Merlin said, "is a switch. Since when did I start coming to you for advice?"

"She loves you, Merlin," Arthur said, and for once refrained from poking fun about Freya's state of mind or taste in men. "She knows all that stuff about you and if she's willing to take you as-is, then –"

"That's just it," Merlin said darkly. "She knows about my past – but just one of them."

Arthur studied his friend. "What do you mean?" he said slowly. The questions Merlin had posed earlier to Percival nudged his mind.

"Freya has said before, we must have been lovers in a former lifetime," Merlin said. Arthur nodded; he'd heard Freya make light reference to the concept. "Has Gaius ever said anything to you abut Freya – in Camelot?"

"It's been a while," Arthur said. "But he said you'd loved a girl in Camelot, that she was cursed and it led to her death, that she never met the rest of us and didn't remember anything but a happy childhood from that time – that the girl was Freya."

"When you saw Gwen," Merlin said, holding Arthur's gaze, "if she had remembered nothing concrete, but had somehow fallen for you anyway, would you have – at some point – looked her in the eye and said to her, _I am King Arthur_?"

He remembered the first lunch he'd had with Gwen, in the cafeteria of Camelot Technologies. How she'd questioned him to see if the memories she'd dreamed were shared memories. And how he'd considered the impossibility of telling Merlin the truth, before the teenager had remembered for himself. And Percival, who had married his high school sweetheart before meeting any of them for the first time again, and who someday might face this conversation with her.

Little Katy, who'd grow up to hear more stories and legends, to ask hard and harder questions.

His own unborn child, when would they tell that son or daughter, your parents are living legends? _And keep the secret, because people will never believe you_… he imagined a preschooler, trying to convince his teacher, _my daddy says he's King Arthur_… and the absolute mess that would follow. He thought of Merlin, twelve years old and denied even an adopted family, shuffled from one temporary home to another – _all my life, no one ever believed me_, Merlin had once told him.

"I cannot marry her," Merlin said, "without telling her the truth, but – you know, don't you, what she's going to think when I say to her, _I am Merlin_?"

Arthur could guess. Freya had from the first believed Merlin's magic as a telekinetic ability, and accepted his nickname and relationship with Arthur and the "knights" as Kathryn did, as an elaborate but harmless joke. But she also knew about the foster care, the abuse, the treatment for mental illness.

"What would you say if Aiden or Rick came to your office and said, I am Napoleon, and really believed it," Merlin said.

"If you don't already know it for truth," Arthur said quietly. "Merlin, I am so sorry. I guess I didn't ever think that through. I suppose I just thought –"

"You thought I just wouldn't tell her," Merlin said, his voice so bitter that Arthur winced.

"Maybe there's a way you can help her remember the truth," Arthur suggested. "Have you talked to Gaius –"

"Damn it all!" Merlin said explosively. "Arthur, she was _cursed_. I'll not go into detail, but it's _hell_ that I'd be asking her to remember, just so that she'll believe I'm the legendary Merlin?" His tone mocked himself. "How incredibly selfish that would be."

"Have you talked to your –" Arthur started.

"Yes, I've talked to my damn shrink!" Merlin snapped. "That's been our topic for four months, now, and that's why I don't see Freya on the weekends after a session. The doctor says, marriage cannot be built on lies, on half-truths, on omitted truths –" Merlin's voice went up in imitation, "Tell her the truth you're so afraid to tell, and if she truly loves you it will all work out. What is the matter, do you not want to marry me? Is it really that hard to decide whether you love me? Are you afraid you're going to stop loving me? Or am I just a convenience while you wait for someone better to come along?" Merlin didn't even take a breath but let out a string of profanity, spoken deliberately and emphatically, and Arthur felt his eyebrows lift in spite of himself.

"_I_ don't know what to say, Merlin," Arthur said softly. It was a hell of a burden for anyone to carry, and Arthur suspected his friend had been carrying the entirety of it alone for quite some time.

"The therapist wants me to think about a trip back to Seattle," Merlin mumbled. "Confront some issues, work through some unresolved conflict. Freya thinks it's a good idea, she thinks I'll feel more free to – make a deeper commitment, then."

The young sorcerer laughed, and Arthur's heart hurt. Merlin's commitments were always so much deeper than anyone else's, and his attachment to the dark-haired girl was just as strong as to any one of them. He really wouldn't hesitate to die for her, and Arthur wondered if Freya realized that.

"Ye gods, I'd come back from that trip and say, guess what? I'm _actually Merlin_! And they'd shake their heads and whisper, _relapse_, and that's not the sort of commitment either one of us has in mind." Merlin suddenly put his bottle to his mouth and drained it, swallow after swallow. "I need another," he told Arthur shortly, stepping down off the deck rail.

"Tell Gwen I'll bring the chicken in five minutes," Arthur said, hearing the clink of tableware and Gaius' voice as Merlin slid the glass door open, answering cheerily some question that Gwen asked.

He did that, he always did that, Arthur thought. Stuff his darkness and pain deep down so no one would know or worry, then answer cheerfully. It was one of the reasons Gaius had suggested therapy, and Arthur had supported the idea. Give Merlin an outlet, someone to talk to who was completely separate from the rest of his life, to whom he could unburden himself of his feelings without worrying about the affect on them. Someone trained to guide him through residual trauma of his childhood, help him deal with the additional trauma of the various attacks on Camelot and on himself. Keep him on an even keel, emotionally.

Problem was, Arthur realized, Merlin could never be completely honest and open with this person, unless he wanted to find himself right back where he started, prescribed heavy medication and told that he wasn't Merlin, and Arthur wasn't the mythical king and there was no such thing as magic.

Arthur sighed and opened the grill to transfer the meat to a serving plate for the dinner table.


	3. Blind-Sided

**Chapter 3: Blind-Sided**

"Good morning, Mary," Arthur said, entering the outer office.

Mary beamed at him. "Good morning, Mr. Drake," she said.

The previous summer, when it became clear that his father's stroke was not a single incident, nor one that he would recover from quickly, if ever, Arthur had assumed his father's office, the better to direct and manage the company. Mary's assistance and advice had proven immeasurably valuable, but since that first day when Arthur had seated himself behind the big mahogany desk, Mary had refused to call him anything but "Mr. Drake." And she was not the only one.  
Arthur had made subtle changes to the office. The flimsy and inferior guest chairs had been switched for duplicates of his own comfortable desk chair. Greenery had been added, and the framed prints on the wall picked out by Gwen and Mary together. A short couch was positioned on the inner wall, where anyone could simply lounge and gaze out the window, which was floor-to-ceiling and pretty nearly wall-to-wall.

He checked his correspondence first thing, as he always did, shuffling through the phone messages that had come through after he'd left yesterday. He ignored an email from Rick Hennessy entitled "Updated Stats on Proposed Merger". He hated to make an unsupported decision simply because he was acting CEO, as his father often had, but if Rick Hennessy kept pushing for the merger to receive serious consideration, rather than accepting a casual decline, he might have to resort to that, and hope it didn't hurt his relationship with the older manager.

Having responded to a dozen different communications, internally from department heads, as well as externally from suppliers and other contacts, he checked the time and his schedule.

Lunch with Gibson Chance. He had half an hour, give or take, before he had to leave. He keyed to send a PM to Mary: **Can you see if there are more seats open on the flight next Monday to Seattle?** If there weren't, no big deal. If there were, he'd book them, and find a casual way to mention it to Merlin. His friend could accompany Arthur and Leon – who now handled Branch Affairs as part of his promoted job description – to the branch opening in Seattle.

He considered, and sent a second PM: **Make that two seats**. If he and Leon were busy with the branch opening, he wasn't completely comfortable letting Merlin wander Seattle alone. Not that he couldn't handle it, but it might provide peace of mind for both of them if someone, Gwaine probably, wandered with Merlin.

PM received from Mary: **2 seats available. Book them?** He answered: **Yes, under Marvin Caroban and Gavin Kraft.**

Another PM popped up, this one from Gibson Chance: **Come early for drinks if you're able.** Arthur answered: **See you in 30 min**.

Then he retrieved his suit coat – always carried, rarely worn – and made his way from the building.

He heard about five times as many greetings as he'd ever heard his father receive, "Good morning, Mr. Drake." It had made him feel self-conscious and unready, at first, but he remembered enough of being king to submerge any lingering discomfort under a graciousness and genuine attempt to appreciate the salutations and remember who everyone was.

Once out of the building, Arthur reached to unlock the driver's side door of the Mustang, and glanced up past the VIP/visitor's parking strip to the lot just outside the break-room and the small office where they'd started the Securities division. Merlin exited from the break-room door, his leggy stride bringing him quickly to the parking lot, his wide grin spreading as he caught sight of Arthur.

Arthur tossed his suit coat to the passenger seat and straightened, leaning one arm on the car door and one on the hood as Merlin approached his black Pathfinder, parked just across from Arthur's Mustang and two spaces down.

"Going to lunch?" he hailed his friend.

Merlin gave him a cheerful grin, and Arthur wondered how the rest of the weekend had gone – bad or good, he'd still give the same wide smile. "Yeah, you?"

"Business lunch," Arthur said. "Gibson Chance and an acquaintance of his."

Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and the alarm system installed in the Pathfinder chirped as it disengaged. "Good luck with that," he said, opening his own driver's door.

"If I don't see you this afternoon, don't forget tomorrow's Round Table meeting," Arthur said.

"Every Wednesday," Merlin confirmed.

"I have a feeling Chance wants to present another assignment," Arthur finished, and Merlin nodded.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

It took him thirty-five minutes to get to the Red Lobster in Lanham, not an ideal choice, but the options were limited between Alexandria and Fort Meade. When he entered, Gibson Chance was already at the bar. Arthur moved in next to him, hitching one leg over a stool casually.

"Long Island ice tea," he told the bartender, who nodded.

"Thank you for coming early," Chance said, serious as ever. "I wanted an opportunity to raise the question of a little private business before we meet Wendy for lunch."

"Go ahead," Arthur said.

"There's been another plane crash," Chance said.

"Another?" Arthur asked. Their last request for assistance from the NSA agent had them in Norfolk investigating a small commuter plane that had crashed seemingly for no reason.

"It's the same as Norfolk," Chance said, pulling a manila envelope from his briefcase and laying it on the bar between them, as the bartender set Arthur's drink on a coaster beside him. "No adverse weather conditions, no mechanical malfunctions or electrical failures, no collisions, no explosions. Pilot and copilot both with spotless records. Black box again indicates that both men tried unsuccessfully to save the aircraft but were unable to identify the malfunction."

"Where?" Arthur said. "And when?"

"Bangor International Airport, in Maine," Chance said. "And, to be honest with you, as soon as possible. I have a team searching now for similar occurrences nationwide and I hate to think we might be facing a more significant threat than it appears."

"You think, some kind of new weapons system?" Arthur asked.

"Frankly I don't know what to think," Chance admitted. "That's why I've asked you – your team has developed a reputation for thinking outside the box, and arriving at unexpected solutions."

"I'm meeting with my core team tomorrow," Arthur said. "I have to be in Seattle next week for a branch opening, but we'll see what we can do."

"Fine, just let me know the details," Chance said, checking his watch. "We have a few minutes before Wendy should arrive –"

A pleasant-faced hostess approached to let them know their table was ready, and led them to a comfortably private table next to a large window. They hadn't so much as adjusted their chairs when the hostess reappeared, followed by a short woman with wide hips, long straight brown hair, an ankle-length skirt of khaki material with matching jacket, and thick heavy sandals.

"Wendy," Chance greeted her, as he and Arthur both stood. "Arthur Drake, Wendy Doran."

He shook her hand politely, her eyes were bright with some great inner enthusiasm, and a wide smile that made an otherwise plain face attractive. "Arthur Drake, acting CEO of Camelot Technologies and Securities," she said, seating herself across from him and setting her voluminous bag – also khaki – down beside her.

"The Securities office is not part of the official company name," Arthur said mildly, giving her his charming smile. "But someday, maybe. We hope."

The waitress appeared with a basket of cheese rolls and took Wendy's request for ice water with lemon, promising to return once they'd decided on their meal choices.

"Well, Miss Doran," Arthur said, deciding at a glance on a sampler platter special.

"Oh, Wendy, please."

"Agent Chance mentioned some new information had come to light concerning the terrorist organization that targeted my company three years ago, specifically relating to an unidentified hacker," Arthur hinted, glancing from the lady to the agent. "You seem to know who I am, but I'm afraid you have me at something of a disadvantage, there."

Her hazel eyes sparkled. "I'm the VP for personnel acquisitions for Halbyon Incorporated," she told him, beaming.

Arthur sat back, feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut. Chance was still reading the menu, and while he was an agent fully capable of dissembling when he had to, he had never tried to deceive Arthur before. In fact, Arthur was almost completely sure Chance knew who the Camelot team members really were, though he had refrained from asking for outright confirmation. He wouldn't have arranged the lunch if he'd known the uncertain status between the two companies they represented, Arthur was sure of it. And what the hell did Halbyon have to do with Mordred?

"I beg your pardon," Arthur said coolly, and Chance glanced up, having caught the displeasure in his tone.

"Halbyon," she repeated. "I _know_ you've heard of us, though you seem to enjoy making it difficult to actually meet you."

"That, ma'am," he said, "is because Camelot has already denied Halbyon's query concerning a merger."

"Frequently and politely," she agreed, her self-satisfied smile firmly in place. "But Rick Hennessy said –"

"Gibson?" Arthur said, turning deliberately away from her.

A rare frown line crossed the agent's smooth forehead. "Wendy," he said disapprovingly. "You only said you'd prefer to give the information to Arthur Drake in person – not that you had some business proposal to sneak to the table."

She nodded vigorously. "Meet _Arthur of Camelot_, yes," she gushed, and Arthur winced as the waitress set down Wendy's drink, pulling tablet and pen from a neat black apron to take their orders.

Chance gave him an apologetic glance, hesitated a second, then gave his order to the girl, followed by Wendy Doran of Halbyon, Incorporated, who didn't seem to realize – or care – about the ethics of manipulating a meeting in such a way.

Arthur had moments, only, to decide if he should excuse himself and leave. But her unusual emphasis on the coincidence of his name and company made him suspect and fear she had more in mind that the union of two corporations. If he left now, he left with little or no information on her, no idea what her goals or motivations might be. If he stayed, he might learn something to support that mistrust he felt from her corporation.

"Who," Wendy continued as the waitress snapped her tablet shut and moved away, "would not be absolutely beside themselves to meet Arthur of Camelot?" She grinned, happy as a girl at Christmas. "I'm only sorry you didn't bring your Merlin along with you as well – maybe another time?"

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, as evenly as his dry throat and racing heartbeat would allow. "I don't follow you."

"Wendy, I –" Chance looked thunderstruck, himself.

"Relax, Gib," the woman said, patting the agent's hand, and leaned forward over the edge of the table to tell Arthur confidentially, "He didn't tell me – I figured it out for myself."

He felt like she'd splashed her entire glass of ice-water full in his chest. Oh, hell, was this why Halbyon was so keen on meeting? He'd tried to discourage the corporation for Merlin's sake – his friend's skills with a computer had gained him something of a reputation in certain circles, and Arthur had worried that a personnel-handling company would stop at nothing to manage someone as talented as Merlin. But if they were already calling him _Merlin_… maybe it wasn't his computer skills they were after.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning," he suggested, hoping there was still some way to salvage the situation. Some way to explain away whatever she thought she'd discovered.

"Oh, I'm so pleased you thought of that," she said. "Yes, that will make it much easier, won't it?" She dug for a moment in her large khaki handbag, and Arthur took the opportunity to glare at the older agent, who widened his eyes and shifted his hands to indicate that he was as shocked as Arthur at the turn the conversation had taken.

"Wendy, perhaps we should focus on the information that you mentioned to me," Chance said in his deep, serious voice.

Wendy slapped a large file folder open on the table, over her napkin-rolled silverware, and gave Chance a fond glance. "I met Gib two years ago," she said. "One of his agents came seeking information on the identity of a cyber-terrorist they'd had in custody for a year at that time – I was in internal affairs, then. We were shocked and dismayed to learn that one of the computer analysts we placed with a private individual was arrested three years ago by Interpol in Belgium for cyber-crimes and terrorism, a host of charges."

Mordred, Arthur thought dumbly, had been an asset passed through Halbyon. No wonder his instincts had warned him to have nothing to do with the company.

"We immediately began to try to discover how something like that could happen, after the hard work and dedication of our training, how an employer with such criminal aspirations could get through our screening process. As part of the investigation, I studied all pertinent information on that drone attack in June, and I –" she wriggled her hips in the seat – "I confess I've always been a fan of the Arthurian legends, it's part of why I work for Halbyon."

_What_? Arthur thought, as the other two leaned back to allow the waitress to set full steaming plates on the table in front of them. What? And, _what_?

"The coincidence of your name caught my attention," she admitted, blushing like a girl. "So I did a little more research – you'll forgive me if I say, there wasn't much interesting to your life, before your internship at your father's company – but then there was all that excitement in October, also. And I-" her eyes gleamed as she loaded pasta onto her fork. "I found a more personal connection."

Arthur found himself slightly nauseated by the smell of the food, wondering, if he didn't eat, if she would be quick enough to notice it as an admission of sorts.

"A personal connection?' Chance said, almost sternly. His hands were on the tabletop, using fork and knife, but not with very great intent.

"I knew Jan Steffan, we were undergrads together."

Arthur remembered a clinic, a woman opening the glass door, tall and broad-shouldered for a female, her clothing conservative, her hairstyle severe. He remembered Merlin's voice in his ear, _That's her._

Wendy took another bite, noticed their expressions, and held up her own silverware defensively. "No, no, don't get me wrong – somewhere along the line she got her priorities pretty seriously reversed – honestly, ignoring ethics and human rights to pursue science and medicine? Goodness, no, I don't condone breaking the law as she and Dr. Spell had done. What interested me was the premise of her research – that there would be physical – genetic – _proof_ of extranatural abilities. And when she told me about young Marvin – the one Arthur of Camelot calls _Merlin_…" The woman actually giggled.

Chance was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. It was a look that made Arthur uncomfortable, the look of someone finding out a secret about a friend. There was a bit of betrayal in that look.

Arthur leaned forward. "Extranatural abilities," he repeated. He'd said to his father, he was suspicious that the other company had not been aboveboard with him about all the company's interests – there was more to Halbyon, Incorporated, he felt, than simply matching professional employees to organizations in need of specific skills.

And, _ye gods_, maybe they were interested in Merlin for more than his uncanny way with a computer system. That meant his attempt to shield his friend from the human resources company had been a failure before they'd ever contacted Camelot.

"It is – obviously – not a well-publicized sub-category," Wendy told them. "But – yes. Those capable of controlling all manner of parapsychological phenomena. Mostly they're considered exclusively Halbyon employees and contracted out to various law enforcement agencies – even to the NSA a handful of times. In any case," she continued enthusiastically, "Jan's research was fascinating, but completely illegal, and mostly unnecessary. You see, she and Dr. Spell believed they could discover or manufacture a formula to instill or suppress such abilities in any given – I don't know, call them _volunteers_ – which is ridiculous, of course. A person is either born with these abilities, or else they are not."

She scraped her fork around her plate and licked the tines. "Part of my job in personnel acquisitions," she said happily, "is tracking down those individuals with innate gifts that Halbyon can train, refine, and utilize. And I flatter myself I've gotten quite good at it. Oh, the news articles I've pored over, looking for inexplicable coincidences – needles in a haystack, I assure you, but it can be done. And now –" her eyebrows rose in near-childish glee – "now I've found the _magnet_."

_Helldamnfire_. Arthur had eaten nothing, but thought he might be sick. What was her game, telling him this to his face?

"Magnet?" Chance said blankly, glancing at Arthur as if his silence worried the agent.

"_Merlin_," Wendy said, and Arthur thought, if she'd been a teenager, she might have added, "duh."

"You refer to my associate Marvin Caroban?" Arthur said. She knew from Jan Steffan what they called Merlin, but neither Dr. Steffan nor Dr. Spell had ever indicated that they might believe in the truth of Merlin's identity. "He was given that nickname because of his computer skills, Ms. Doran –"

"Wendy," she insisted, and gave Arthur a sly smile. "Computer skills, come now, Arthur."

He wanted to tell her, please call me Mr. Drake.

"The NSA _still_ doesn't know how he does what he does with a computer, do they, Gib?" she said, and moved her plate off the file folder, fingering a printed copy of a news article. "June 2, drone partially destroys Camelot Technologies headquarters building, Alexandria, Virginia. Bomb squad recovers HMS explosive device on the lawn. They claimed the apparatus had not simply loosened and fallen away during the drone's flight, but had been _unscrewed_."

Chance looked at Arthur. Wendy's eyes were quick and keen, and she smiled.

"October 22, Fort Bragg, North Carolina. John Buell, shot point-blank in the stomach according to witnesses, but doctors claimed the wound was inconsistent with close-range. _Such an injury_, Dr. Getty says, _would have killed the young man in question. The shooter must have been at least twenty feet away for the relatively minimal amount of damage our surgical team repaired_." She looked up. "It's my job, you see, to look for these inconsistencies. I admit, it took me many months to sort out the Baltimore marathon incident – oh, the _hours_ of interviews and cross-references, of looking for tiny bits of truth in the wild stories people tell!"

She sat back, smiling hugely. "I finally had enough to persuade the president of Halbyon that we needed to acquire Marvin Caroban – how immensely useful he could be in locating others like him, he'd probably be able to do my job in a fraction of the time it takes me! Imagine my disappointment when I learned his contract with Camelot was unbreakable. Unusual, and unbreakable."

Arthur took a carefully measured breath. Perhaps the situation was still salvageable. That contract had been Merlin's idea. After two dozen job offers – sometimes extremely pushy job offers – Merlin had begged for an arrangement that would allow him to swiftly and simply decline, on legal grounds. So he and Arthur signed a legal contract - Camelot Technologies, and more specifically, Arthur himself, had proprietary ownership of all Merlin's work, potential and actual.

Sorry, he could say when propositioned, I'm under contract. Corporations, agencies, and individuals alike had to come through Arthur and Camelot with employment offers – or demands, some of them. The pay they offered bordered on insane, sometimes, but Merlin was insulted if Arthur so much as mentioned it. Outside of the court of Camelot, and Elyan and Gwaine's young associates, only Chance knew the truth behind that contract.

How, Arthur wondered with sudden suspicious insight, would the merger affect Merlin's contract? Perhaps this was Halbyon's way of gaining some legal control over Marvin Caroban?

"But you," Wendy said, playfully scolding Arthur, "have made it so difficult for us to get near either of you," she paused for effect, "I was also able to persuade the president of Halbyon that other options were worth the expense." She flipped a news clipping to the opposite side of the folder, and Arthur leaned forward to catch a glimpse of a glossy photo.

_We're in trouble, Arthur_, Merlin had said to him, driving north from Fort Bragg after Hyden had tried to shoot Arthur to force Merlin to demonstrate his magic. _Hellfire_, what a gross understatement that now was.

"Wendy!" Chance said, as understanding came to him.

"Relax, Gib, it's all public surveillance," Wendy said. "Perfectly legal." She handed Arthur half a dozen photos across the table.

They had been taken in a park, that much was initially obvious. He looked closer, recognizing the park across the street from his own house, which would be just off the edge of the picture. In the forefront, the back of a child on a swing, blurry from motion, and in the rear of the picture – his heart sank. Merlin and Katy in the sandbox. An enormous and elaborate sandcastle rose a good two and a half feet high from the play area, and even at the distance of twenty-five yards or so, Arthur recognized the northeastern face of the citadel where he had ruled as king. _Hell, Merlin_, he sighed mentally.

"The camera has a time stamp, incidentally," Wendy commented, "that cannot be altered or forged. Take a look at the next one."

Arthur turned the first picture back. One second only had elapsed, according to the time stamp. The swinging figure had moved less than a foot of distance through the air, but the majority of the photo was taken up by Merlin's body, legs bent and braced, arms outstretched.

The next three pictures, each a single second apart, showed the child hitting Merlin's arms, clutched in Merlin's arms as the young man's body turned to bear the brunt of the fall, and last sprawled half across Merlin's body on the wood-chip playground, the looks on both faces clear – pain on Merlin's at the impact, nothing but surprise on the little boy's.

"Better than I could have hoped for, actually," Wendy said, grinning widely as she tucked her long hair behind her ears. "I'll have to give Lila a raise."

"This shows nothing," Arthur stated, letting Chance take the photos from his hand and flip through them, back and forth, studying them. "So he caught a kid falling from a swing."

"Exactly!" she crowed. "Think of what we could get for him just as a bodyguard!"

Arthur said heatedly, "Merlin is _not_ –" and stopped.

Her face lit. "I'm right, aren't I?" she said. "He _is_ Merlin, and you _are_ Arthur."

"It's a nickname," Arthur said, forcing himself to be calm, when he wanted to growl and swear.

"For a man who clearly has the ability to be in one place one second, and thirty feet away in the next second," she said gleefully, tapping the photos in Chance's hand. "Oh, _can't_ I meet him? He would be of so much use – I would love to know if he uses teleportation – _highly_ difficult and _extremely_ rare and next to _impossible_ to control. We had someone once who managed to move himself about ten feet, but then he collapsed with a heart attack, and it was three months before we could – oh, but that's classified." She blushed. "Is it a reverse form of telekinesis, maybe? That he can stop things already in motion?"

"Ms. Doran," Arthur said, and over her insistence that he use her first name, continued, "Marvin Caroban is my employee, a trusted associate, a valued asset of Camelot Technologies, _and my friend_. I regret to say, we will not renegotiate his contract, not now or at any time in the future. My company is _not interested_ in forming any ties with Halbyon, not now or at any time in the future. And if I hear a _whisper_ of any of this information becoming public –" he stood and reached across the table, gathering up her file and all the material in it – "I will do _whatever I must_ to rectify the situation, including but not limited to financial litigation and criminal charges. I hope we understand each other, Ms. Doran. It was quite informational meeting you. Agent, I'll be in touch."

He carried the file carefully through the restaurant, out the door, out to the car, and shoved it under his suitcoat.

He wanted to shred the file entire and burn the pieces.

He wanted to slam his forehead against the steering wheel repeatedly, or cry. He wanted to swing a sword at a training dummy over and over and over… and then stand in his room while Merlin removed his armor from exhausted limbs and spoke soothing and encouraging nonsense and made him smile and feel able to face his problem again.

Instead Arthur started the engine and pulled out of the Red Lobster parking lot.

Whether anyone at Halbyon believed Merlin was _the_ Merlin, as Wendy Doran appeared to, they knew about him and – well, pretty much about the magic, too. They wanted him, and Wendy knew Jan Steffan.

He couldn't keep it from Merlin, he knew that. Merlin deserved the warning, at the very least. More than that, if Wendy's claims about the _extranatural_ abilities of certain of Halbyon's employees were true, Merlin might not be as alone, in that regard, as they'd thought, and he deserved to know that, too.

And wouldn't _that_ change some things for the future. For all of them.

When he arrived at Camelot Technologies, he felt relief at seeing that the black Pathfinder was not in the lot – Merlin was taking a long lunch, then, and wasn't back yet. That gave Arthur a little time to think about how much he should say and how he should say it, especially given Merlin's new problem with Freya. Arthur was more determined than ever that Merlin should come with him to Seattle – he'd prefer there to be as many miles as possible between Halbyon and Merlin, and as few as possible between him and his friend.

Arthur somehow muddled through the rest of the afternoon. He glanced periodically out the window toward the parking lot, but didn't see the black Pathfinder again. He received an apologetic email from Gibson Chance, explaining that he was sorry about Wendy Doran's behavior, embarrassed that he had been caught by surprise as well, and offered to do anything within his power to help Arthur with the issue in the future. Arthur responded with a bare acknowledgement, and a reiteration of his cooperation with the Maine case.

He tried to look at the material already gathered on the plane crash, and couldn't concentrate. He tried to evaluate the email from Rick Hennessy, and found it impossible to be objective. Merlin still wasn't back. He left a voicemail on his friend's cell phone, and a couple of texts, and figured Merlin had either turned it off or left it in his car for the afternoon, that wasn't too uncommon.

Arthur finally ended up leaving the CEO's office and sauntering through the building, chatting with employees, receiving updates and re-familiarizing himself with some private issues they faced, as well as progress made on various projects, commiserating with obstacles, and just generally immersing himself in the life of the company. It was mentally undemanding, and served to smooth his feathers as well as pass the time.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

As he drove home, Arthur wondered if he should have reacted more temperately, vaguely hinting that he'd consider the idea of the merger instead of with a threatening negative. He wondered if Wendy Doran had arranged the meeting with him with the full knowledge of her company behind her, or on a whim of her own, and whether or not anyone there shared her opinion on Merlin's identity.

There was a red car in the driveway, he saw, blocking his side of the two-stall garage - Freya's little Chevy. He didn't think much of it, as she and Gwen had become very close friends over the years, and parked by the curb in front of the mailbox.

Arthur entered the house through the garage instead of the front door, as he usually did, and heard his wife's voice from the living room as he stepped into the kitchen, quietly kind, calmly soothing.

"And what did you say?"

By contrast, Freya's voice, when she answered, was broken and rough with emotion. Arthur couldn't see her, but it sounded like she'd been crying. Sobbing, maybe; he froze in place, uncertain.

"What are you supposed to say to something like that? I said, no, sweetie, you're not. That's impossible."

Gwen made a noncommittal noise, encouraging the other girl to continue.

"It was like I told him someone had died, the way he _looked_ at me. I said, no matter what you think you dreamed, it isn't so. Arthur Drake is just… Arthur Drake. I told him how special he was and how much I loved him…" The girl sobbed again.  
Arthur's heart twisted. Merlin must have done it. Must have tried to tell her the truth. Today at lunch? No wonder he hadn't come back to work.

"I guess he hasn't said that to his therapist, I mean, he _knows_ how crazy it sounds, right? I said, you've got to tell Dr. Reeve the truth about how you feel and what you think, so they can give you the right medication, talk you through this. So you can get better."

"Here, sweetie," Gwen said, and Arthur heard the soft sound of a tissue being pulled from the box. He wanted to reverse his steps, exit the room again, give both of them some time and space, but he was afraid they'd hear him if he moved.

"You'd think I'd slapped his face," Freya said, giving a self-deprecating chuckle. "He won't even consider medication. I mean, he has to know he's not well, doesn't he? My family – we all love him. How he grew up, it doesn't matter. I thought he didn't want to get engaged because he wasn't sure about _me_."

"He knows you love him, Freya," Gwen murmured. "And he really loves you, too. You can – work through this. Together."

"I don't see how." Freya's voice was bitter. "He thinks he's a damn legend reincarnate, Gwen, I mean he honestly, completely believes he is _the_ Merlin. He honestly, completely believes that your husband is King Arthur, back from the dead."

"Well," Gwen said, and Arthur could picture the look on her face, the way her jaw would be set and she'd be biting the side of her lip.

"The first step to solving a problem is _admitting_ –" Freya broke off. "There's more, isn't there? You – he thinks you're the queen, doesn't he? Guinevere. And the others – Gwaine and Percival – that they're _real_ knights." She gave a heart-wrenching little moan, and began to sob.

Arthur couldn't help stepping softly through the kitchen to see both women side by side on the couch, Gwen's arms awkwardly around Freya, the bulge of the baby between them.

"It's worse than I thought," Freya managed to say. "He has this whole dream world now, doesn't he? A whole separate fantastic reality – how am I ever going to break through that? How can I help him? How long will it take him to recover if he refuses to see the truth – and you know that we _can't_ get married until –"

Freya sniffed and reached across Gwen for the tissue box, catching sight of Arthur in the doorway. Her eyes and expression, always so sweet and warm, hardened angrily, and she pulled away from Gwen.

"You're partly to blame, you know," she said to him, pulling herself together, as if the presence of a man meant the cessation of free-flowing emotion. She wiped her eyes delicately on her sleeve.

"Freya," Arthur said gently, "please let me explain."

"No, there's nothing to explain," she said. "You know what happened to him when he was a boy, don't you? When his father died and his mother and brother were killed when those men broken into their apartment?"

"Yes, we've both heard –" Arthur began, but the normally soft-spoken girl cut him off.

"And when his telekinesis started coming out, you know what happened? His mind got all mixed up." Freya rose from the couch. "You know it took him _years_ to get over thinking he was the wizard Merlin from Dark Ages Britain? You know how _horrible_ his life was during those years?"

"His grandfather has told us a little," Gwen said, struggling to her feet. "But what you've got to understand, Freya, is that –"

"This is what I understand," Freya bit out, her brown eyes snapping at Arthur. "He had a chance for a new life here with his grandfather – and because you thought it was _funny_ to pretend you were all the Round Table – you were his first real friend, did you know that? Did you realize what that would mean to someone like him?"

Arthur stood dazed. A new start, a gawky young man with plain clothes and a neckerchief, trailing after Gaius around the castle. You thought it was funny – _come on, now, you've had your fun_. First real friend – if I wasn't a prince and you weren't a servant – what it would mean. To someone like him. _I'm happy to be your servant til the day I die._

"His world revolves around you," Freya said angrily. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry now, and hot. "Did you ever stop to think how seriously he might take your joke? Do you know what it did to him, that accident in June three years ago, when you both ended up in the hospital? And what those psychos did to him in October? Do you know how _damaged_ –" her voice caught on a sob, and she had to wipe her eyes again.

"Freya, you're not the only one who cares about Merlin," Arthur said gently. "He's stronger than you think, and –"

"_Merlin_." She laughed, rolling her eyes. "I'd never have used that nickname, if I'd known he was going to believe it. You're a self-centered ass, Arthur Drake. I'm sorry, Gwen. But you don't care about him – you just keep using him and using him for – _Camelot_ Technologies." She laughed again. "You don't see how - special he is, how exquisite and precious, and his _gift_ – you just take and take and – _damn_ you, Arthur Drake, because he's happy with that! The least you could do after all he's given you and all he's done for you is to try to help him get well again, not screw him up even more!"

She hurried lightly to the front door, Gwen following more slowly. "Freya! Please – don't leave like this."

He heard the love of Merlin's life mumble, "I'm sorry, Gwen. I'll – call you later. Or something."

"Freya!" Gwen said again. After a moment, she shut the door, but remained there, watching through the window.

"Hellfire, what a mess," Arthur managed. "What are we going to do?"

"She _really_ loves him," Gwen commented sadly.

Arthur let out a short, painful, "Ha!" and added, "That's what you got out of that? She thinks he's a stark raving lunatic! And he's stuck between hearing _that_ from someone he loves with his whole big foolish heart – and oh by the way that _you're not him _crap is what screwed Merlin over in the first place – and _us_."

He dug his phone out of his pocket as Gwen returned to his side and put her arms around him, snuggling her cheek against his chest. He keyed for Merlin's speed-dial and listened to it ring, listened to Merlin's voice give the preset voicemail message.

"Merlin, please call me," he said. "This is Arthur – you know that – Freya was just here." He hesitated, and felt his wife's warm tears soaking through the material of his shirt. "You know that you're welcome here any time, all the time. Whether you want to talk, or not. Just, please… I'm sorry." There was nothing else to say. He ended the call, and Gwen moved away, sitting down with the tissue box, pulling two out at once to apply to her face.

"Should I have said something different?" she said to Arthur. He keyed for Gaius' number. "I mean, she needs someone to talk to, also, about this – if she knew I thought it was the truth – I mean, I know it's the truth, but if I told her – she wouldn't talk to me either."

"I know, Gwen," Arthur said, as Gaius' voice came on the line. "Gaius, has Merlin come home from work yet?"

"No, he hasn't," the old man answered. "I was just about to call you to see if he was working late. Arthur – has something happened?"

"He told Freya," Arthur said, and the old physician's sigh crackled through the phone.

"She didn't believe him," Gaius said.

It wasn't a question, but Arthur said, "No. She was just here – she was angry with me for perpetuating the joke."

Gaius sighed again. "Thank you for informing me, sire."

"Let me know if and when he gets home?" Arthur said. "He hasn't returned my calls this afternoon."

"Mine, either," Gaius said. "But yes, I will – if you'll do likewise for me, Arthur."

"I will," Arthur promised, and pressed the end-call button, reassuring Gwen, "I trust you to know what to say, Gwen. Don't feel badly."

"I just wish there _was_ – something I could say." She gestured with the wadded tissue, already sounding stuffy, herself.

Arthur winced. Gwen was already all over the map emotionally, because of the pregnancy hormones. The rest of the evening was probably going to be more of the same. Oh, well. The least he could do was suffer with her. He seated himself on the couch, letting her huddle under his arm, sniffling.

He tapped out a text message to the knights: **N e one seen Merlin this p.m.? Need 2 no where he is.**

In-between receiving Leon's and Elyan's simple **No** response came a longer message from Gwaine, texted to all of them: **Hes at my place. Had a fight /w F? Getting drunk, staying here. C u tom.**

Arthur gripped the phone, relieved that Merlin was with one of them, and not somewhere on his own. He wanted to respond with a flurry of mother-hen instructions. _Look out for him, Gwaine. Take care of him. Don't let him do anything stupid or – or harmful, to himself_. Well, other than drinking. Instead he replied, **Thx**. _Do what you can_ – he knew Gwaine would already be doing anything in his power. Knowing Gwaine, that meant getting drunk right along with their young friend, Tuesday night or not.

"He's at Gwaine's," Arthur reported to Gwen.

"Oh, dear," she sighed.

Had Merlin known Freya would go to Gwen, and so had decided to steer clear of the Drake's, going instead to Gwaine? Or was it because Gwaine's ignorance of the situation eased some of the feeling for Merlin, as it wouldn't if he sought the company of someone, like Arthur, who knew the ins and outs of the issue?

**C u tom.**

...*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

**A/N: Okay, you guys, for real… I'm usually pretty sure I'm a mature adult, but your reviews make me grin like an idiot and giggle like a toddler being tickled. :D**

**Also, thought I should provide a brief refresher 'cast list', as some have birth names that are used by people outside the circle of Camelot originals: Gaius (Dr. Augustus Sagesse); Uther Pendragon (Thomas Drake); Merlin (Marvin Caroban); Percival (Peter Spiers); Elyan (Allen Bell) and Gwaine (Gavin Kraft). All the others merely have last names added (Leon, Arthur, Gwen, Freya). In case anyone wondered why Kathryn called Percival "Pete".**


	4. Recalled

**Chapter 4: Recalled**

Merlin had his own office, now, next door to Carol in the IT department. He rather missed turning in his chair only slightly to make a comment to Arthur or Leon or Gwaine. But days like this one, there was something about shutting the door and listening to the silence, alone, that appealed to him.  
And there was always the computer, if he wanted to communicate. The Round Table originals were almost always on the private messaging feature of the Camelot system, and usually in a Send All – Reply All mode. He was here in IT, Percival had taken a desk in Engineering, and Leon had a back corner of the third floor as the head of Branch Affairs. Elyan and Gwaine had taken the window desks of the shared office space of the first Camelot Securities office, training two new associates.

That had been Arthur's choice, but they'd all approved. There was just too much work for the growing department, especially after Thomas Drake's stroke. Ray Clements and Jason Booker, not long out of the college, both the same sort of bright, idealistic, loyal men that Arthur would have knighted, once upon a millennium ago. They both had gained a significant degree of trust, even to the point of using the Round Table "nicknames" with ease, though no one had broached the question of "do we tell them" yet.

Do we tell them? Merlin groaned in the stillness of his office, letting his head fall down on his keyboard. It sounded so easy, those three little words _I am Merlin_ as simple to say as a certain other three words. She'd accepted _I love you_ so readily, so soon after they'd started dating.

_I am Merlin_, on the other hand. She'd tried to argue him gently into admitting that he was teasing her, and then, as the realization dawned that he truly believed what he was saying, she'd begun to cry.

Honestly, it would have been easier if she'd laughed and refused to take him seriously. It would have been easier if she'd gotten mad, assuming he was trying some elaborate hoax, perhaps intended to push her away.

She really loved him, though he didn't fully understand that. And it hurt her to think that his sanity was irrevocably impaired, that he'd refuse treatment to cling to his delusions.

It was a terrible crossroads that he saw. Because he could choose her. He could choose to check himself into a facility, break off all contact with Arthur and Gwen and Gaius and the knights. He could let them medicate and persuade, and there was little doubt that eventually they would succeed. There was little doubt that Freya would be waiting when Marvin re-emerged.

It was a choice he had made, once. To smuggle the girl he'd loved out of Camelot, to leave behind the pain and anxiety and hiding and lies and responsibility and destiny and let someone so sweet and pure envelop him in complete and uncomplicated love.

If he made that choice again, would Freya's life be taken from him a second time, to make sure he remained at Arthur's side?

The other choice – to keep on keeping on. To be Merlin. To be Arthur's Merlin, his sorcerer, partner, brother, friend. To let his love leave him and remain, alone among friends and comrades and equals.

He startled as his desk phone rang, the green light blinking an external call relayed to his desk. He stared at it stupidly for a moment – he never got external calls. His friends used his cell phone or the internal company lines, and Patty knew to transfer corporate head-hunters to Mary, who handled the refusal of job offers for Marvin Caroban.

He picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Hi, is this Marvin? Caroban?" The voice was young and male, and familiar. He could almost place it – "This is Casey. Lindell, from Fort Bragg? We were roommates for a week for a marksmanship class – when Sergeant Major Hyden shot Buell, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Merlin said ironically, allowing a small smile and a bit of internal relaxation. He deliberately pushed aside images of Hyden pointing a gun less than a foot from Arthur's beating heart, Buell's blood oozing over his fingers, to remember Casey's help teaching him how to disassemble a pistol, his childlike fascination with Merlin's sleight-of-hand _magic_. "How's things, Casey? Where are you at? Did you get to Chicago?"

Casey Lindell had been FBI, he remembered. Studying for a degree in criminal psychology, honing his skills with a weapon for promotion. "No, never made it to Chicago." Casey laughed into the phone. "I'm in Seattle, of all places. Still, it's a step up from Minneapolis."

Seattle. Merlin stiffened, and managed, "Huh."

"Well. Reason I'm calling is, I caught a missing-persons case. Lady here in Seattle, her son lives just across the border into Oregon, going to school in Portland. He's up here for a visit, goes missing. Local P.D. couldn't find much, and between you and me, there wasn't much to find. This son is eighteen now, has a couple of questionable connections… anyway. Why I called you, is because I was talking to the mother at some length and she was showing me old pictures and – come to find out, we know someone in common. You."

Merlin sat back in his chair, feeling like he was falling backwards into darkness. "Who?" he rasped, then cleared his throat and said again, "Who?"

"Edwina Littlefield."

Edwina Littlefield - Eddie. The one constant when his life had been a journey from hell-hole to hope and back down again. Eddie's appearance meant change, sometimes a relief, sometimes a disappointment, but always she'd managed to make him feel comforted. In the car, in the hospital, her office – once for a holiday weekend, her own home. Merlin believed it was because of her that he hadn't lost himself in a world of drugs. She had been the only one he'd ever apologized to for inflicting the wounds that scarred his wrist.

Caseworker had somehow become friend. She'd given him her number, and the confidence that no matter what, he always had one person to call. He had no idea if she said that to all the kids whose files she handled, and he never had called her personally, but knowing he could, had made a difference.

"Shane's missing?" he said.

"Oh, good, you remember." Casey's voice held relief. "Anyway, Ms. Littlefield was surprised to hear I knew you, that you consulted for the NSA – but then we got to thinking, maybe, if you weren't busy, you could come out to Seattle. Between you and me, my partner here is a bum. And Ms. Littlefield sounds like she'd be happier having someone she knows and trusts looking into Shane's disappearance."

Someone she knows and trusts. Merlin felt that might be a bit of a stretch. Likely Eddie had heard NSA, and was grasping for straws. Shane – Merlin remembered a morose redhead, skin a faint yellow-pale beneath freckles, heavy and a touch pigeon-toed. He was three years younger than Merlin, and hadn't ever been in the same school, but they'd known each other through Eddie, and both had been loners. Outcasts. They'd recognized that in each other, and accepted that, though they might not be friends, they were _alike_.

Merlin's last year of high school, before he left Seattle, he remembered a bitter comment of Eddie's about Shane's new high school crowd, and drugs. Then again, if Shane had left to go to school in Portland…

"What have you got?" Merlin asked.

"The mother's assurance that he wouldn't take off on his own without telling her, not voluntarily. No action on his phone or bank card since the day he disappeared. Some blood at the last known location, though not near enough to suspect homicide. The drug-crowd connection is suspicious enough that no one's giving it their full attention."

"I'd have to clear it with my boss," Merlin warned Casey. He thought he remembered, there was a new branch opening in Seattle soon? Maybe he could ask –

"Your best efforts, that's all I'm asking," Casey said. He already sounded relieved. "At least that way she'll probably call _you_ every day, instead of me."

"Give me your number," Merlin said, and wrote the digits on a yellow sticky-pad. "I'll get back to you later today. I've got –" he glanced at the time – "actually, I'm _late_ for a meeting, now."

"Can't be getting you in trouble, now, can I?" Casey laughed. "That won't help my case – thanks, Marvin."

He disconnected, folded the sticky note and shoved it in his pocket, made his way to the upstairs conference room. The hangover headache he'd managed to ease for both himself and Gwaine was back, though he felt oddly better. He might have to return to Seattle, might have to face and work through his past, as least as far as it concerned Edwina Littlefield. But to focus on someone else's problem for a while, and hopefully be able to _help_, would feel good – and more, if he returned still confident of his identity, perhaps Freya –

The third-floor conference room was ajar, the meeting begun but casual. To a murmur of greetings he gave the room a wide grin and said, "Sorry I'm late."

From the opposite side of the table, Elyan teased, "So what else is new?"

Seating himself at Arthur's right, Merlin was aware of the glance his friend exchanged with Gwaine over his head, but only shrugged to Elyan sheepishly.

"As I was saying," Arthur continued. The neutrality of his tone, the absence of the sarcastic recrimination he'd usually direct at Merlin in these not infrequence situations had Merlin cringing and sighing on the inside. So Arthur would now begin to treat him as breakable once again.

"There's a possibility that the two incidents are not separate coincidences. Chance has asked us to investigate, and as soon as possible. Now, Leon and I are leaving for Seattle Sunday afternoon, so –"

Percival, next to Leon on Arthur's left, said, "This is my weekend with the Reserves, Arthur. But I can go Monday morning if it can wait that long."

"We don't know exactly what we're looking for, do we?" Gwaine said, leaning forward.

"Any evidence of foul play," Arthur said. "Anything suspicious in the wreckage, on the coroner's reports, airport tower log and interviews…" Ah, now Merlin was caught up – a repetition of the Norfolk plane crash, then.

"Elyan and I could go with Ray and Jason," Gwaine proposed.

"Not you, Gwaine – at least, not for right now," Arthur said, and Merlin shot him a look. The former king deliberately ignored Merlin's gaze and added to the dark-haired knight, "I'll speak to you about that in private, later." Gwaine nodded and sat back again. "Elyan, I'll have Mary book flights for you three to Bangor tomorrow afternoon, if that's good for everyone, then you can contact Percival if you still need him for Monday."

The knights in question nodded, and the rest of the hour passed with Merlin's attention drifting, catching the gist of each update report – Percival in Engineering trying to figure a cost-effective way to mass-produce the terahertz lasers for airport security, Leon repeating statistics on the Securities branches in Chicago, Kansas City, Denver, and Dallas.

Merlin himself had been dabbling half his time in airport security footage, keeping an eye out for known terrorist movement, and on a handful of kidnapping cases that had caught his attention from across the nation, though he couldn't have said why. Nothing definite to report, though, and Arthur didn't pressure him. He did, however, remain seated after dismissing the meeting, and didn't seem surprised that Merlin made no move to leave the conference room either. Gwaine pushed himself up from the padded chair to seat himself on the conference table itself.

Once Leon had tactfully pulled the door almost closed, Merlin began, "The reason I was late, Arthur –"

"Merlin, you don't have to explain," Arthur said.

Merlin frowned, then remembered Arthur's voicemail message, _Freya was just here_. And he knew Arthur had noticed the fact that he was wearing the same trousers to work that he'd worn yesterday, albeit with one of Gwaine's clean long-sleeve polo shirts.

"Casey Lindell called me this morning," Merlin said, choosing to push the whole issue to the side. He saw from Arthur's face that he didn't find the name familiar. "Fort Bragg – Hyden – Casey was my roommate." That _ah!_ look came over Arthur's face, and Merlin continued. "He's FBI, in Seattle now, and wants my help on a case."

Arthur simultaneously narrowed his eyes and tried to stop a smile. "You want to go," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"Want is a strong word," Merlin said honestly. "I feel I _should_ –"

"You can fly out with Leon and me on Sunday," Arthur said. It was a bit too quick, and it caught Merlin's attention. Then Arthur went on, "Gwaine, you should come too. Partner Merlin for the investigation." Attention quickly changed to suspicion.

"I thought you needed me for something else?" Gwaine said.

A faint flush came over Arthur's face. He glanced down at his leather folio, closing it deliberately as an excuse not to meet their eyes. "Ah, no," he said. "I've – changed my mind." He pushed his own chair back from the table and stood. "Sunday noon, then?" he said.

Gwaine made an easy noise of consent and stood. Merlin followed him out the door, heading for the main staircase, then paused on the top step. He turned to see Arthur similarly paused at the door of the conference room, watching him.

_ Do you want to talk about it? Not right now. Are you all right? Mostly. See you later, then._

It was the briefest of moments, then Arthur turned to walk down the hallway to the CEOs office, and Merlin continued down to IT.

The afternoon started with a text conversation with Freya. **Am sorry I got upset**, she texted.

**Am sorry 2**, he responded.

** Can we sit down /w ur grndfthr?**

He hesitated over the text a long time. He knew what she intended. She wasn't going to ask Gaius if there could be any truth to Merlin's claim, she was going to see if Gaius could influence him to admit to a mental problem, seek more intensive treatment. That would be a disaster, he thought. And it wouldn't be fair to Gaius, with each of them turning to him for support, _I'm right, aren't I? Tell her/him I'm right_.

**No**, he texted back. **I wont bring him n2 this**.

He held the phone, silent in his hand, for seven long minutes. He wondered if she was crying again. Wondered if she'd consider this their break-up. His hands shook as he entered another message. **Am going 2 seattle sun. can talk when im home again?**

Nothing. No response. He didn't know if that meant _yes_, or _no_, or _maybe_, or _I'll decide later, we're through, I love you…_

He threw himself into one of his kidnapping cases for a distraction. The primary suspect was a registered sex offender who lived two street from the family in question and passed the neighborhood park on his way to work as a busboy at a local café. The consensus on the case was that this suspect, whose alibi was shaky, had managed to abduct, kill, and dispose of the child without leaving any substantial proof.

Something about it struck Merlin as wrong. The original conviction had been statutory rape – as a 19-year-old having sex with a 16-year-old. Any claim that it was consensual was, of course, invalid, but dating and sleeping with an underage girl was different than snatching and killing a 12-year-old boy. Something didn't fit. He'd have been happy to find the person responsible, happier still to find the missing boy, but proving one person's innocence was a good second best for an afternoon's work. He compiled his information and material and addressed it to the local P.D. under the mostly anonymous heading, courtesy of Camelot Securities. Probably they wouldn't be happy at having a simplistic explanation shot to shreds, but at least knowing they were wrong, they could look elsewhere for the actual guilty person.

Then his phone beeped the alarm for incoming message. From Freya. **Ok. Lmk when ur home.**

It was something, at least. Maybe he'd have something to tell her about his time in Seattle, something that would prove his mental stability to her, make her willing to listen, to consider his words might be true, not crazy.

He glanced at the time on the corner of the computer screen. 4:40. As long as he kept up with the internal requirements of the IT department – Carol still technically his supervisor, though she understood his special position and didn't ask him for much – and provided Arthur with anything and everything he needed, computer-wise, his time was generally his own, to pursue whatever cases or leads caught his fancy. Some days he was in the office until the night shift security officer checked in. Sometimes he left early if Freya was off…

But today – proving a suspect's innocence felt like a natural end to the day. He was tired, and he was headachy, and he wanted a long, hot shower. He wanted Freya, wanted to curl up with her on the couch with Chinese takeout and an old movie – _Run, Eliza, run_…

He turned off his system and ducked into the strap of his messenger bag, heading for the parking lot. And found his feet wandering to the white Mustang in the VIP strip, rather than across the grass to his own Pathfinder. He turned and leaned against Arthur's car, squinting up at the glass of the third story of the building which hid the CEO's office.

Idly he placed one of his ear-buds in his ear, rubbed his finger across the iPod screen to play music selected randomly by the device. Classic rock, he recognized the opening strains, and smiled, one of his favorites. _Day after day I'm more confused_…

He'd sat in this passenger seat a hundred times. Sometimes sullen, sometimes hilarious, sometimes intent. Even sleeping. Once or twice, mildly injured. _But I look for the light through the pouring rain_… Those times had been simpler, maybe, before Arthur and Gwen had been married – and baby makes three – before Merlin bought his own car. _Are you coming up to Baltimore today_? Taking classes, taking orders, taking assignments. _You know that's a game that I hate to lose_… Merlin sighed and turned again, using his magic to unlock the car door.

He gathered up Arthur's suit coat and an armful of papers beneath that to sit down, pulling the door shut behind him without having to touch it. _Give me the beat boys, and free my soul… I wanna get lost in your rock and roll… and drift away_… It smelled like Arthur, faintly. Merlin grinned and shifted in his seat, paper crinkling below his boots.

He reached to retrieve it, to stuff it in the file, and paused. The photo was grainy, black and white, a printed copy of a news article, but familiar to him. It was a small medical clinic in downtown Baltimore, from a local paper. **Robbery in Progress Halted by Police**, the headline read. The date matched his own dropped charges, two and a half years ago. The article didn't mention that, nor his name, though it did give a quote from Dr. Jan Steffan about delinquent teens and prescription drugs.

Dr. Steffan. _Think what a little of his blood will do in the right people…_ He shuddered. Why in the hell - he opened the file folder to shove the article out of sight. There was another photo, another article. The song played through his earbuds, mellow and exultant at once – _Beginning to think I'm wasting time_…

Camelot Technologies, a full frontal shot, half the glass smashed and the lobby open to the parking lot. There was even still an ambulance in the drive. He didn't remember any reporters, just – _We have a pulse now, but no voluntary respiration… _

His fingers trembled as he moved the page, and more images bombarded him. A medical report. Hyden's arrest record. An innocuous picture of the front of the NSA building, and a tall evergreen that always gave him a cold chill. _Don't understand the things I do_…

Yellow numbered markers, one for each discarded shell casing – in the grass, on road asphalt. A body-shaped mound under a striped lap-blanket. _The world outside looks so unkind_…

Himself in the center of the street, head tucked between his knees, jacket draped over his shoulders, Arthur kneeling in profile beside him, hand on Merlin's shoulder as he gave attention to something the picture didn't show, further down the street.

The last set of pictures – Katy. _So I'm counting on you_…

Oh, damn. Lila and her book_. I didn't even see you come over here_.

_To carry me through_…

Merlin jumped as the driver's door opened, and Arthur stepped into the footwell, seating himself and shutting the door before turning to see the file in Merlin's hands. His blue eyes met Merlin's with no small amount of guilt. He pulled the ear-buds out, dropped them down against his collarbone.

"Where did this come from?" he asked.

Arthur reached to take it from him, close it from his sight. "That's kind of a long story," his friend said, pitching the file onto the dash.

"Short version," Merlin suggested. He didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or to punch the window out.

"I think they want to hire you?" Arthur said.

"And instead of offering a million-dollar salary, they dug up this stuff to – what? – blackmail you with?" Merlin said. Arthur slouched back, propping his elbow on the door and rubbing his forehead, making a gesture of agreement. "I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I should have been more careful."

Arthur shook his head. "It is _really_ not your fault, Merlin," he said. "You don't need to worry about this, especially right now."

Merlin sighed. Freya. It gave him an _oh, yeah_ pang to remember the look on her face, not loving sweetness or cheerful wonder at something special he'd done for her, magic or otherwise, but a stifling pity. "What did she say to you?"

"She was angry," Arthur said. "Cussed me out for taking advantage of you, playing a joke while you were innocent and impressionable, and…" Arthur's tone was faintly sardonic, but Merlin could hear the affect Freya's accusations had made.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I told her it wasn't anything you said or did, but once she decided I'd looped the loop," he had to take a breath and try to steady that bitter sarcasm. "The more I said I'm fine, the more she heard, I'm not fine."

They sat in silence, watching other employees walk past. "If there's anything I can do –" Arthur offered.

"No." Merlin sighed. "There's nothing to be done." He blinked the tears from his eyes. "Either I agree to commit myself to intensive therapy, or she somehow comes to believe it. I don't see there's any other way. If I say it was a joke that'll be the end of things between us, and she's never going to say it doesn't matter. So, for all intents and purposes… it's over."

"You're not going to see her again?" Arthur asked.

Merlin's throat closed and he couldn't breathe for a pair of heartbeats. What the hell, really? Why was Freya even here, if not… He swallowed and managed, "No. It would be – awful, knowing she thinks my screws are all loose. If you'd seen her face –" The pity. The heartbreak. You can't persuade someone to reconsider insanity. "Good thing I'm going to Seattle, hm?" Merlin said. Arthur shot him a glance, then his eyes went to the file on the dash, and Merlin's intuition made the leap. "You were going to bring me to Seattle anyway, weren't you?" he said, and couldn't find the energy to be upset. "Because of _that_. Me and Gwaine, both."

Arthur sighed. "Yes. I thought – I don't know, a change of scenery. And then with all that crap, I knew I was going to be useless there if you were here, being followed and photographed."

In spite of everything, Merlin felt a tiny smile pull at his lips. "You mean," he said deliberately, "that you'd _worry_? About _me_? I'm flattered, though I _can_ take care of myself, if I'm told –"

"If you're told –" Arthur interrupted, giving him his reserved sideways smile – "to _shut up_, Merlin."

Merlin laughed softly, and for that moment, it was all right. Threateningly pushy would-be employers, destined lovers refusing acceptance, even distressed former caseworkers and missing acquaintances faded into the background.

He was where he belonged, at Arthur's side. They both were alive and well. No one he loved was in any danger. All else would come, in time.

"You want to come back to the house?" Arthur said. "Gwen cried for about an hour last night, after…"

"Yeah," Merlin said. He wanted to question teasingly whether Gwen's crying was supposed to be an incentive to come or a warning to stay away, but he didn't have the heart. "Yeah, I'll come."

"Do you want to –"

"No, I'll drive mine," Merlin said.

Once at the Drake house, Arthur pulled into the garage, and waited til Merlin had come up the drive to close the garage door, and they both entered the kitchen.

"Gwen?" Arthur said. Merlin's instinct was to call out jokingly, _honey I'm home_, but suddenly he couldn't get the words past the painful lump in his throat. Not his honey, not his home.

"Arthur?" Gwen's voice came from the living room, and Merlin trailed his friend to the doorway. "How was Merlin? Did you get a chance to – oh, Merlin." She was on the couch, this time with bed-pillows propped behind her and under her knees, the arrangement somehow serving to emphasize her pregnant belly. Merlin couldn't help smiling; that glow really was soothing.

"Yeah, I brought him home with me," Arthur said, rather unnecessarily. He leaned over the back of the couch to kiss his wife gently on the lips, then headed for the bedroom.

"What am I, now, some homeless stray?" Merlin scoffed, rounding to the front of the couch as Gwen struggled upright, discomfort on her face.

"How are you, Merlin, really?" she said. She smiled her own gentle, concerned smile, in spite of the dark circles under her eyes. But her whole person simply radiated light and comfort and safety. The glow was almost medicinal in nature to his wounded spirit, increasing the sting of the separation from his own mate while simultaneously promising eventual healing.

It was such an odd mixture of strong emotions that he reacted without thinking, and the stereo that was part of the living room entertainment system flickered on. _These raindrops are falling on my head, they keep falling_…

Gwen's eyes widened, and Arthur said something unintelligible from the bedroom. _But there's one thing that I know/ The blues they send to meet me won't defeat me…_

"Ah, that's probably me," Merlin said, embarrassed. "Sorry, that's pretty cheesy, isn't it?" _It won't be long til happiness steps up to greet me_…

"It's fine, Merlin," Gwen said, and as he turned toward the stereo, she added, "No, no – leave it on." She wriggled to the edge of the couch, stuffed a pillow behind her hips and leaned back until her head was on the back of the couch, as _Raindrops keep falling on my head_ kept playing.

"You worked, today?" Merlin said, seating himself on the brass-and-glass square coffee table, his knees inches from hers.

"Jenny didn't come back from her trip to Vail last week," Gwen said. "Broke her leg skiing." She made a face. "So they're short-handed."

"It's your lower back?" Merlin said, and reached both hands to her. She gave him a confused look, and her hands, and he pulled her to her feet, turning her around. "Where?"

"The muscles next to my spine," Gwen said, jamming her fists into the area as she spoke, and bending backwards. "But also right here, on the back of my hips. It feels like I can't arch back far enough to ease the stress."

"Move your hands," Merlin told her, and put his own fingers against her back, drawing her clothing flat and concentrating on the bones and muscles she'd mentioned, letting healing magic flow into her. The glow shifted, just slightly. "Sorry – he kicked you just then, didn't he?" Merlin murmured.

Gwen chuckled a little breathlessly. "That feels good – Merlin, we told you, we didn't want to know the baby's gender, we wanted to be surprised."

"Ah – yes," he said. "I mean, she just kicked…" Gwen laughed again, hunching her shoulders forward as he moved his fingers up beside her vertebrae. "Sorry – surprise."

"I expect to be very angry with you later," Gwen said. "Don't you dare tell Arthur! But right now – mm, that feels good."

"What the hell is this, _don't tell Arthur_." Arthur came into the room, having changed into a t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had worn a hole at one knee. He sounded mostly amused, but maybe a touch jealous. "That is a highly inappropriate way you're touching my wife, Merlin."

"This is a pain I can do something about," Merlin snapped. "_Some_body ought to profit from the magic."

Arthur stood still, and Gwen turned around. The music died away and Merlin let his hands drop. "I'm sorry," he said. "That sounded quite – _bitter_, out loud, didn't it?"

"Come on," Gwen said. She seated herself in the middle of the couch, moving two bed-pillows for Merlin. "We'll watch an old movie or something."

"Pizza okay with everyone?" Arthur said, heading for the kitchen.

"Actually, Arthur, I think I'd like Cheerios," Gwen said meekly.

Merlin looked over the top of the couch and couldn't resist grinning at the look on the former king's face. "Cheerios," Arthur repeated.

"Yes, Honey-Nut Cheerios. And a chocolate shake." Gwen turned so that Merlin could see her blush and sheepish grin, but Arthur couldn't.

"You're serious? You're serious." Arthur groaned and turned back to the kitchen.

"Watermelon and chop suey?" Merlin suggested.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I'm not that bad," she insisted.

Merlin snickered and turned his attention back to the tv, an episode of International House Hunters. He relaxed by degrees, feeling simultaneously lazy and giddy to be resting so close to Gwen and that glow of promise.

_What will it be like_, he wondered, _when it's Arthur's son I'm taking to the playground? Who's telling me, thanks for the magic_?

Gaius had once told him, _Fear of loss is part of love. You may have her for half a century, or a decade, or a month_… He'd had Freya almost three years now. If it was over… no, he couldn't think like that. Not yet. Merlin let his eyes drop closed, his arms crossed tight over his chest, and imagined someday, putting his stockinged feet up on his own coffee table and his arm around Freya, as Arthur's arm was around Gwen – resting his other hand gently against the bulge of her stomach, as Arthur did, absently-mindedly, his eyes on the television, to feel the movement of new life.

Butterflies didn't even come close. If it was his child he felt moving through Freya's skin, her eyes locked on his and sparkling with joy – unimaginable happiness.

It was easy to ignore the insidious whisper of his dream… _run, Eliza, run_…

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Sunday night they arrived at Seattle Airport at ten til nine o'clock. They checked into the Ballard Hotel, and Gwaine groaned over the sound of the elevator as they rose to the fourth floor.

"Seattle in springtime," he said. "What's the weather supposed to be like again, Merlin?"

"High 50's," Merlin mumbled. "Forty percent chance we'll get half an inch of rain total all day tomorrow – and every other day this week."

He was tired, worn out from an emotional roller-coaster of a week, not sure whether to consider the separation from Freya as merely a bump in the road or as the end of the road itself. Not sure whether to anticipate this trip to Seattle, seeing Eddie, seeing Casey, doing something tangibly useful for someone he cared about – and he'd be fooling himself if it didn't feel like he was paying a debt – reviewing old memories before laying them to rest once and for all. Or whether he should dread those memories, the hurt that might come, and the question of how to handle that.

"Merlin's in with me?" Gwaine said, the surprise in his voice startling Merlin out of his reverie.

They stood in the hotel corridor, the carpet burgundy-and-forest green pattern beneath their feet, vending and ice-machines humming down on the right, window and potted plant at the end of the hall. Number 459 on the door in front of them.

"If no one objects," Arthur said. Leon hitched the strap of his duffel on his shoulder as Arthur pulled the electronic keycard from the little paper envelope with the Hotel Ballard logo. "We have to be at the office at seven-thirty tomorrow, thought you two might at least sleep in."

"Damn straight," Gwaine said, grinning and ripping the paper envelope to get their keycards. "What about the car, though? You'll have it, we'll be stuck here."

"Bus," Merlin said. The various plans of the public transportation of the city presented itself to his memory – bus, metro, and ferry – committed there by his 13-year-old self who had learned the hard way that he couldn't trust anyone else to look out for him.

"Keep your phone turned on tomorrow, you hear me?" Arthur said, his blue eyes intense. "And with you at all times – that's an order. Gwaine–" he hesitated, and whatever he'd been about to say became instead a subtle smile and, "I know you two have each other's backs. Let us know if you need anything."

"Get a good night's sleep," Leon told both of them, holding the door open as Arthur entered their shared room, though his eyes were on Merlin. "That way jet lag doesn't hit so hard in the morning."

"Come on," Gwaine said over his shoulder to Merlin, pressing down on their door-latch as the green light blinked. "We can see if the mini-bar is stocked."

Merlin said nothing, but felt immeasurably better as he followed the dark-haired former knight into the room – he wasn't alone. He had friends he could trust to look out for him. Merlin's magic reached out to the lights as Gwaine dropped his bag and pulled the curtains shut.

"That's my bed," Gwaine tossed over his shoulder, indicating the bed on the inner wall.

"Why?" Merlin countered. He thought he probably preferred the bed closer to the window, anyway, and moved to set his backpack down.

Gwaine flicked on the tv and tossed the remote on the bed beside Merlin on his way to the half-fridge under the sink in the entryway of the room. "It's closer to the bathroom," he pointed out, then huffed. "No luck. No booze."

"We'll get a six-pack tomorrow," Merlin said, stretching out on the smooth cool cover of the bed, relaxing muscles tense from eleven hours of flight time, counting the hour stopover in Denver.

Gwaine continued prowling, familiarizing himself with the amenities. "At least there's coffee for the morning," he said. Merlin heard the sound of a cabinet door opening. "Closet, and ironing board with iron," Gwaine said. "You got any clothes you want to hang up, Merlin?" For answer Merlin kicked his overstuffed backpack, and Gwaine snorted, continuing on. "Pay-per-view menu – you're not old enough for that stuff, though, are you?"

Merlin grinned. Gwaine knew very well it was his twenty-first they'd celebrated two months ago. The former knight had been the most excited of all of them that Merlin could now order his own alcohol in public legally.

Gwaine moved on to the desk. "They've got a restaurant attached to the hotel," he said. "But no room service." Merlin kicked off his shoes and made a sympathetic noise. "Oh, but a handful of delivery menus." The stiff folded sheets slapped and slid across Merlin and the bed as Gwaine chucked them at him, and he began pitching them onto Gwaine's bed one by one in retaliation.

"Hey!" Gwaine protested half-heartedly, still exploring the desk. "Here's one that tells you fun stuff to do in Seattle. The Space Needle, the Aquarium, Pacific Science Center… Here's a good one, the Museum of History and Nordic Heritage – Merlin, they've got a special exhibit of medieval weaponry. Some from Britain – the Battersea Shield and the Waterloo Helmet from the Thames."

"Lemme see that," Merlin said sleepily, rubbing his eyes. He heard the suggestive whisper of movement and caught the guidebook with his magic before it hit him in the head. He glared up at an unrepentant Gwaine, and plucked the book from the air. "The date's wrong," Merlin continued. "This was last month. The exhibit is in D.C., now. The Smithsonian." He scrutinized the trio of tiny pictures, each labeled. Something about the sword in the third picture, a thumbnail photo about an inch square caught his attention, and he blinked to read the label accurately.

The Artorius Blade.

Merlin sat up as Gwaine sprawled on his own bed, kicking his shoes off and beginning to flip through the tv channel options.

The description read: _Recovered in 1993 by fishermen on a lake near Glastonbury in Somerset, named by its commercial owner, Halbyon Incorported. Circa unspec._

"Does that look like Arthur's sword to you?" Merlin said, pointing.

Gwaine squinted briefly at the picture, his interest gone once he'd heard the exhibit wasn't available. "Can't tell," he said, turning back to the tv.

Merlin looked at the picture again. Maybe with a magnifying glass… Well, it was in D.C., after all. When they got back he could find an excuse for a day-trip to the capital.

Crazy, though, wasn't it? To think after all this time… He remembered choosing it from Gwen's father's stock, remembered Kilgarrah's flame burnishing it, the thrill of apprehension at Uther's fascination, Kilgarrah's anger that another had wielded it. He remembered the sunlit clearing where Arthur had taken it into his hand for the first time. He remembered holding it in his hand for the last time, rubbing his thumb over the gold-wire wrapped leather grip, watching the light play along the edge of the blade…

Freya's hand rising from the water to grasp the hilt and recall the weapon to its final resting place, as Merlin prepared to do the same for its master, and his.

"You all right, mate?" Gwaine asked. "You look like you just – saw a ghost or something."

"I'm fine, Gwaine," Merlin said, giving him a grin. "It's my heart that's broken, not my mind." He stood up and walked to the door.  
"Where are you going?" Gwaine asked.

"To show this to Arthur," Merlin told him.

Gwaine made a discouraging face. "It's late, Merlin," he said, pushing the power button to turn the tv off. "It'll keep til tomorrow, won't it?"

Merlin looked back down, then ripped the page from the guidebook and folded it carefully, so the picture wouldn't be creased. He crossed the room and knelt beside his bed, tucking it into a side pocket of his backpack. After fifteen hundred years… yes, it would keep til tomorrow.

**A/N: Information for the fictitious museum's ad was taken from the website .**

**Wikipedia has one possible location for Avalon in Glastonbury, so that's what I used…**

**Watermelon and chop suey – that's Lady and the Tramp. **


	5. Reacquainted

**Chapter 5: Reacquainted**

"Is this the place?" Gwaine asked, as Merlin strode past the main entrance of the municipal building. He lingered by the steps with the large black umbrella as Merlin kept walking, ignoring the drizzle. He took a deep breath of smoke and nicotine, his hand tented over the cigarette to keep it lit in spite of the wet, and walked to the corner of the building, where he stopped.

Then he turned and stalked back to Gwaine, squinting into his smoke and the droplets that clung to his face and his eyelashes.

"This is the place," Gwaine said again, and looked around curiously, mentally visualizing, maybe, a 13-year-old Merlin crossing the street, climbing the stairs, huddling on the bus stop bench.

Merlin inhaled, again without speaking, holding the stimulant in his lungs before finally letting it out.

Gwaine's eyes were sharp on him, understanding without having to ask. "She's gonna be pissed that you're smoking again," he said only.

His next breath burned the cigarette all the way to the filter, and he pinched out the orange smolder. He didn't answer, but turned and led the way into the building. He'd never felt this apprehensive bearding an actual dragon in his den.

It was the same, even down to the cracked yellow tile floor, the smudged beige paint, the water-colored flower prints washed out on the walls. The ringing phones, the clamor of voices – angry, upset, despondent. Some few clear children's voices, too young to know better. Merlin hunched his shoulders and lengthened his stride to the last office on the left.

"Did we have to do this here?" Gwaine said. Even the normally cheerful knight looked subdued, his jaunty devil-may-care attitude depressed not only by the surroundings, but the knowledge of the kind of lives that came through each door.

"She couldn't get any time off," Merlin said curtly. "They're always swamped. So it was here or wait til seven o'clock tonight."

"If she couldn't get time off," Gwaine said, "how's she going to be able to talk to-"

"Got your ID?" Merlin said, pushing through the door.

The desk clerk sat behind a glass window to the right – glass that Merlin knew was bullet-proof – harried and grim, her back to the waiting room. "Help you?" she said tersely, not immediately looking up.

"NSA," Merlin said, showing her his agency consulting ID. "Need to speak with Edwina Littlefield."

The clerk looked at him a moment, pressing her lips together, then looked past him at Gwaine, who fumbled to show her his own identification. "She's on a call, but I'll let her know you're here," the clerk said finally, reaching for the phone. "Have a seat."

The upholstery hadn't changed – textured yellow faux-leather – just gained a couple more holes and cracks, more wear pattern at the edges. Gwaine and Merlin took adjacent seats, Gwaine sitting back with his arms crossed, Merlin leaning forward over his knees, his satchel between his feet. He began to whistle between his teeth, _Yesterday… all my troubles seemed so far away…_

There were two children waiting with what looked to Merlin like a field agent, rather than a parent – foster or real - a boy of about five and a little girl of three or four, clearly siblings. They shared a chair in silence, their eyes big as they studied the two adult men, ignoring the children's books and magazines on the table between them, the basket of toys in the corner. Their clothing did not match, or fit properly either, for that matter.

_Now it looks as though they're here to stay_… Even the smell was the same, contrasting odors of filth and disinfectant. Merlin's leg was bouncing. His stomach clenched with the familiar principal's-office uncertainty. _Am I in trouble? What did I do? Now, what? Now, dammit all to hell, what._

He leaned sideways on the seat, snagging the basket of toys, dragging it closer.

Gwaine gave him a sidelong glance. "Bored?" he questioned sarcastically.

There was a small action figure of Superman sticking from the heap. Lifting it delicately between thumb and forefinger, he showed it to the two children, who stared at it, and then at him. He gave the figure a little shake to distract their attention from his eyes, and the Superman disappeared. The little girl's eyebrows shot up, and Gwaine chuckled.

Merlin made a show of looking for the toy, inspecting the palms of his hands and then the backs, even pulling his sleeves away from his arms, then giving the siblings an exaggerated shrug. The boy's faint hopeful look turned into a scowl, and Merlin held up one finger as a signal for patience, then gestured as if to present Gwaine.

"What?" Gwaine said.

"It's in your shirt pocket," Merlin murmured.

Gwaine gave a comical jump and fished the toy from his pocket. The little girl giggled and the boy pulled his smile back, bunching his lips together determinedly.

"Toss it," Merlin said. Gwaine flipped the Superman like a football-game quarter, and Merlin reached out to snatch it from the air. Everyone's attention again on his hand, and he opened his fingers to show his hand empty. The little girl slid from the chair and leaned forward over the magazine-covered table. The boy balanced on the edge of the chair, the caretaker and Gwaine both smiled.

Merlin pointed to the coloring book under one of the girl's hands, flipped his fingers as an indication of what she should do. She squatted down to peer beneath one corner of the book, and laughed excitedly as she drew the Superman out, turning to show her brother, who grinned unreservedly.

One of the office doors opened, and a teenage boy slouched out, dark skin and an even darker glare. The two children glanced at the older boy, and the girl retreated to her brother's side.

"Psst," Merlin said, to get her attention. He held out his hands in invitation, and she pulled her hand over her shoulder to hurl the toy as hard as she could.

Gwaine's hand darted out to catch the figure before it could reach Merlin, and the roguish knight's eyes danced in merry challenge. The small children's eyes were wide at his daring, and even the sullen teen was watching.

"You think so, huh?" Merlin said to Gwaine, and held up Superman in his own fingers. Gwaine opened his hand and it was empty.

"You –" he said, then shook his head as the children laughed and their caretaker raised an amused eyebrow, nodding her approval.

"Stupid, man," the teen muttered. "You think some stupid magic trick is gonna fix things for anybody?"

Gwaine stood slowly, nonthreateningly, and the teen sneered. Merlin stood also, taking Gwaine's sleeve as he slung the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. "It made them smile," he said neutrally to the boy. "For today, that's enough." He made a throwing gesture to the little boy, who cupped his hands in front of his stomach in readiness to catch the toy.

"Agent – Caroban?" Eddie's voice said behind him.

Emotions swirled through him, a sense of comfort and home and apprehension and the scariness of change and the unknown all mixing at once. The radio in the office behind the teenager hummed sweetly, _When I'm stuck with a day… that's gray… and lonely…_

Merlin tossed Superman to the little boy, who concentrated, trapped the toy awkwardly against his chest, then pulled his hands away empty. _I just stick out my chin… and grin… and say…_ Frowning, the boy straightened the wrinkles from his shirt while his sister checked his pockets. The caseworker applauded softly, her smile wide. _Tomorrow, tomorrow_…

As the children continued to search, even on the floor around the boy, Merlin said to the teenager, "There's more to life than you can see right now. The trick is remembering that until you can discover it for yourself."

Gwaine moved behind Merlin, on his way to Eddie's door. Merlin heard him introducing himself as his partner.

"Where is it?" the teenager asked, his brooding surliness melting to a vulnerable uncertainty.

Merlin stepped back toward Eddie's office. "It's in _your_ pocket," he told the teenager, who slapped suspiciously at his clothing. As Merlin backed through the office door behind Eddie and Gwaine, swung it closed behind him, he saw a look of incredulous wonder come over the teenager's face as he pulled the toy from his pocket, and the two smaller siblings jumped and clapped and cheered.

"Marvin," Eddie said, and pulled him down to meet her tight embrace. Time was when he didn't have to stoop for that – but she still smelled like lily of the valley. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she said.

"Oh, I think I can guess," Gwaine said cheerfully, closing the door and seating himself in the chair next to it.

Eddie released Merlin to the chair next to Gwaine's, but instead of going behind her desk as she always did – as Merlin remembered her doing – she sat in the third chair, sideways to the desk and the other two chairs. She hadn't changed much. A few more wrinkles on her freckled skin, a few more inches to the long hair pulled back from her face, the strawberry-blonde hue faded a few shades. The frames of her glasses were the same, and she kept Merlin's hand in hers as she wiped tears from under them.

"No, you can't," she said to Gwaine. "You really can't. Have you ever been in the system?"

"No, ma'am," Gwaine admitted, slightly taken aback.

"It's heart-breaking, it really is, even at the best of times," Eddie said, still speaking to the knight. "_This one_," she shook Merlin's hand slightly, "was special."

"Now, _that_ I do know," Gwaine said. Merlin ears felt hot, and he shot Gwaine a look.

"Do you." Eddie's eyes were sharp on the knight. "Such a _quiet_ boy, always," she said. "Except if you looked in his eyes – really looked – and then everything in his heart would come shouting out… overwhelming, sometimes, it was, to sit here and watch him saying nothing so intensely." Her eyes softened as she turned them on Merlin. "I knew, I _knew_, there was greatness in you, whether for good – or ill. I always thought, one of these days he'll find his place, or his place will find him, and then the world will change. One way or another."

"Sherlock Holmes," Merlin said, smiling at her, and her eyes lit.

"You remember," she said softly.

"I got detention for reading it in class," he said. One of the few possessions he'd kept, actually, the book Eddie had given him was in his room upstairs in Gaius' townhouse. "Then I finished reading it in detention."

"Sherlock –" Gwaine said.

" 'I could not but think what a terrible criminal he would have made had he turned his energy and sagacity against the law instead of exerting them in its defense,' " Eddie quoted, and Merlin gave her a self-conscious smile. "And now you're NSA."

"Consultant," Merlin said. "I work for Camelot Technologies, in the IT department."

"And Agent Kraft is your partner?" she said.

Gwaine corrected, "There's a whole team of us, we kind of interchange partners based on the job, and who's available."

She nodded. "I'm _so_ glad for you," she said again. "Friends really do make all the difference in the world – I'm glad you found the right ones, Marvin."

"The _right ones_," Gwaine murmured with a low chuckle. "Ye gods, Ms. Littlefield, you have no idea." She looked at him, a little puzzled.

"Eddie," Merlin said, patting her hand. "You know we came to talk to you about Shane."

"Yes." Tears sprang to her eyes, but didn't fall. "I was so surprised when Agent Lindell said he knew you, but then I thought, it's fate, it has to be. If anyone would understand, I thought, it would be Marvin Caroban."

"Why do you say that?" Merlin said, feeling slightly uneasy. He'd never been close to Shane.

"Two years ago, when Shane was a junior, my husband left us," Eddie said, very calm and matter-of-fact. Over Gwaine's awkward sympathies she said, "No, it was rather a relief. _You_ remember."

Merlin did. Mr. Littlefield had been the sort of man to sit in his recliner in his undershirt, beer in one hand and the tv remote in the other. Not belligerent, just – deliberately detached from his home and his family.

"It was hard on Shane," Eddie went on. "And then it was bad grades and broken curfews and parties… I could smell the smoke on him, and… well, the _smoke_. And the alcohol, and… I once found three different painkiller bottles in his school bag." Merlin understood, and knew Gwaine did, also. It wouldn't have been Tylenol or Advil or Aleve in those little bottles. "I couldn't get him to say two words to me at a time, and there were other – strange things."

"Strange how?" Gwaine said.

"Things missing, things moved, things broken." Eddie bit her lip and glanced from Gwaine to Merlin. "I thought, maybe, he was looking for – if I'd hidden cash or loose change around the house."

"What happened then?" Merlin said.

"One night he came home early, shaking like a leaf, white as a ghost, soaking in sweat." Eddie's eyes held distant pain at the memory. "He said he had to leave, to get away – I thought maybe he owed money, maybe someone threatened him? But there was no blood or bruises, no signs he'd been in a fight… I called his father and we arranged for Shane to move to Portland with him, start school last fall. He was going to be a mechanic." Eddie wiped the corner of one eye. "He was a genius with engines."

Merlin had done a little background research on Shane Littlefield, on the plane the previous day. It told him nothing surprising – a few classes missed, a couple of parking tickets and one moving violation for the last nine months. No arrests, no warnings or suspensions from the school. One car payment had been late. Everything to support the claim that Shane Littlefield had left town for a new start, had made mistakes, but progress too. Deeper digging yielded surveillance footage of various blocks surrounding the most notorious drug corners in Portland – since there would be no cameras _on_ those corners - but nothing of Shane.

"He got clean in Portland, didn't he?" Merlin said quietly.

Eddie nodded. "It wasn't easy, but he was determined. And I thought – his father said he was doing so _well_."

"Why don't you tell us about his visit back to Seattle," Gwaine suggested.

"It was in February," Eddie said. "Back to school after a month off for the holidays. He was getting a little – tired of the schoolwork. His grades weren't that good on the tests… but no one had the instincts, the success he had when it came to practical application. It was like the engine itself could tell him what the problem was, and how to fix it. He – he got some kind of job offer, here in Seattle, and he came for an interview."

"How did that go?" Gwaine asked.

"He was excited, the first day. Happier than I'd seen him in years, and so full of life and anticipation. They called him back the next day, and then he wasn't so sure. I think maybe the commitment they were asking him to make scared him a little?"

"So he turned them down?" Gwaine said. "Who was the interview with?"

"I think he told them no." Eddie chewed her lip, unsure. "I don't know, I don't remember the company's name. I think Agent Lindell has that information, he took some of Shane's things for evidence."

"Did he reconnect with his old friends while he was back?" Merlin said. "Even just in passing, or by chance?"

Eddie shook her head decisively. It had been a question asked of her before. "No, it was different. He was reliable about being on time, doing what he said he'd do. We ordered Thai food and watched a movie – he didn't use his phone or go out or hide in his room. I didn't smell any smoke on him, any alcohol or anything else. He was a different person, he'd –" She looked up at Merlin, and smiled through tears. "He'd grown up."

Merlin wondered, what it was about Shane's story that made Eddie think Marvin Caroban was the one to understand.

"And the last day?" Gwaine prompted gently.

"He was supposed to leave in the afternoon, be back to Portland for dinner with his father. He didn't say when he'd be coming back to Seattle again… We ate breakfast before I left for work, he was just going to hang around the house for a while… as I was walking out, he got a phone call and grabbed his jacket, and I hollered at him to remember to lock the door if he left."

"Do you know who called?" Gwaine said.

"No." She shook her head. "He was vague, first said no, it wouldn't change anything, he had made up his mind. Then he said yes, fine, like he was upset, and _no, don't – I said I'd come_. That was it."

Vague, indeed. It might have been an old partying pal, or a dealer after a debt, or the company that had offered the job. Merlin felt discomfort stir, something Arthur would call one of his _funny feelings_.

"He didn't call me at work," Eddie said. "When I got home, his car was gone, his phone… I thought he'd gone back to Portland, until his father called at quarter after ten to say he wasn't there yet. We – we panicked. We called the highway patrol, the hospitals. Shane's father drove the route, and found nothing. We filed the –"

"Missing persons, yeah," Gwaine said. He cleared his throat and Merlin shifted uncomfortably, guessing what he was thinking. "And then?"

"Well, it was a week. I found his bag and his clothes still in his room… And then they found his car near the marina, completely stripped. They've talked to his friends. No one knows anything. He wouldn't just _leave_, he wouldn't –"

After a moment of silence, Gwaine said, "We'll be meeting with Agent Lindell this afternoon, Ms. Littlefield. We promise to let you know if we find out anything."

"When," Merlin corrected softly. He knew that officers and agents weren't supposed to promise results, but this was different. He was different. "When we find out something."

"One more thing," Eddie said. She gazed keenly into his face, then reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, plain printer paper, worn with folding and re-folding. "I – didn't give this to the police, or the FBI. I thought –" She swallowed, and handed it to Merlin.

He unfolded it carefully. Any evidence on the paper itself would be useless, lost or contaminated by the many times Eddie had obviously handled the sheet. It was a penciled letter, written – as his first impression and instinct told him – in haste and agitation.

"That's your son's handwriting?" Gwaine confirmed, reading over Merlin's shoulder.

_Dear Ma_, the letter read. _I'm sorry. I guess maybe you won't believe I'm actually doing this, after I said I wouldn't, but I have my reasons. I'm sorry for how it will hurt you, I wish I could explain. Don't look for me. You won't find me. I love you. Shane_.

"What is it you think he's referring to?" Gwaine said. "_You won't believe I'm actually doing this, after I said I wouldn't_…?"

Merlin's pulse had accelerated. It was ambiguous, but he knew immediately why Eddie hadn't given it to anyone official. It would read as a suicide note. As a dive back into the world of drugs Shane had dabbled with in high school. It would read as a voluntary disappearance.

Eddie gave a short laugh. "Could be anything, couldn't it?" she said, a little desperately. "Anything he ever told me he wouldn't do – drop out of school, hitchhike to Niagara Falls, join a cult – drop out of school to join a cult hitchhiking to Niagara Falls how the hell should I know?" She threw her hands apart violently, and knocked over the mug half-full of coffee on the edge of her desk.

Merlin, distracted and off-balance, reacted without thinking. It was Eddie's favorite, a pastel Thomas Kinkade print wrapped around a tall mug with a graceful handle, the rim wider than the base – he caught it and the splash of coffee in place with a single instinctive thought.

Gwaine and Eddie both froze.

Without looking at either of them, Merlin leaned forward to grasp the mug, scoop up the coffee, and set it back in place on the desk. "Sorry?" he said tentatively.

"You've learned to control it, then," Eddie breathed, her face shining with – _hope_, of all things.

"Um – yes?" His head filled with memories of voices – _there's no such thing as magic – it wasn't me!_

"Excuse me?" Gwaine said, looking from Eddie to Merlin. "She knows?"

"His file," Eddie told Gwaine, "was this thick." She held thumb and forefinger about two inches apart – an exaggeration, Merlin was sure. "Starting with the nightmares and medication and the psychotherapy with his adoptive family."

"Uh – huh," Gwaine said, and his voice was accusing. Merlin didn't look up from his hands, gripping them together to stop the shaking, but he knew his friend's eyes were on him.

"He was the most well-behaved kid I ever handled," Eddie said, "and got into the most trouble. As a caseworker, you learn to read between the lines. Read what's there – and what's not – make your own judgment when you get to know the child. The excuses I heard for why this family or that couldn't keep young Marvin, why suddenly a model foster family is being investigated on suspicions of child abuse… Well. I knew there was _something_. Something different from the other excuses I heard about other kids. I mean, look at him. Secretive, yes, but malicious? never. Moody and a rule-breaker, yes. But deliberately destructive or inclined to vandalism?" She shook her head. "I never saw a kid try so hard to be _good_, to be _normal_, and –"

"Fail so miserably?" Merlin suggested, smiling faintly, toying with the buckle on the strap of his satchel that crossed his chest.

Eddie slapped his knee lightly. "It wasn't your fault, and you know it, don't you?" She looked back at Gwaine. "It was never anything you could prove, you know, just – flashes from the corner of your eye. Hunches. Coincidences. He always insisted, it's not me."

"They told me, there's no such thing." Merlin cleared his throat. "I had to – I _had to_ believe it."

"But now you know the truth?" Eddie said, gently ironic. "I saw you in the waiting room just now – that was the real thing, wasn't it?"

"I couldn't do real sleight-of-hand to save my life." Merlin ventured a shaky smile. "Too clumsy." He glanced up at Gwaine, caught a storm of emotions in the knight's dark eyes. He sighed. "If you think of anything else, Eddie, here's my number." He scrawled his phone number on a scrap of paper for her, and she clutched it gratefully as they stood to leave.

"You know, we hardly ever get to see if we've actually helped these children, in the long run," Eddie told Gwaine. "If our kids turn out, you know?" She pulled Merlin back into a fierce hug. "Thank you," she told him.

"We haven't done anything yet," Merlin reminded her.

"Except fly across the country to come back here," Eddie said. She squeezed him again. "_Thank you_. I knew you would understand."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"There's Casey," Merlin said, deliberately ignoring Gwaine's last question, pointing to a corner table in the busy Boston Market restaurant.

Casey half-stood, waving to them. His hair was regular length, rather than the fine bristle he had sported at Fort Bragg, but the dark blue suit made him look like a boy dressing in his father's clothes. To Merlin's relief, Gwaine dropped his line of questioning as they made their way to the table where the FBI agent waited. He appreciated his friend's concern, but the years on the Fairfax County police department made a series of stubborn and pointed questions from the former knight feel more like an interrogation than a conversation.

"Marvin," Casey said with evident relief, and reached to shake Merlin's hand.

"This is my partner, Gavin Kraft," Merlin told him, turning to indicate Gwaine.

Casey shook Gwaine's hand, too. "Casey Lindell, FBI," he said. "Thanks for coming. I ordered for all of us, if that's okay, and – ah, here we are."

The waitress approached slowly, carrying the heavy tray carefully, and began to set down the family-style dishes of roast beef smothered in gravy, mashed potatoes, and green beans fairly floating in butter sauce. Gwaine made an appreciate sound and began to load his plate.

After they'd each served themselves, Casey said, "Did you talk to Ms. Littlefield, then?"

"Yeah, we saw her this morning," Merlin said.

"The way I see it," Casey continued, "there are four possibilities. He's dead, by his own hand or by another's, or he's missing but alive, either by his own choice or by another's."

"Suicides usually don't work it out so that no one can find them," Gwaine commented.

"I'm inclined to believe Eddie, that he wouldn't leave on his own, either," Merlin said. "The evidence indicates that Shane was well out of the drug scene, trying to do something productive with his life. Why would he walk away from that? Without emptying his bank account or taking his car?"

"So we're left assuming that someone else was involved," Casey said. "The question then becomes –"

"Who and why," Gwaine supplied. "And where is he now?"

It felt a little odd to Merlin. They hadn't worked this kind of case before, and it made him wonder about the five days he'd spent in the basement of the clinic in Baltimore, only half-aware of his surroundings at his most lucid. The letter, he thought, might indicate that Shane had made a decision of sorts, but… possibly under duress?

"So you've covered the drug angle, I assume," Merlin said, toying with his fork.

Casey nodded, and swallowed his mouthful before answering. "Interviewed a couple of his friends from school, said they hadn't seen him since last summer, guys he used to hang with. We brought one in on a possession charge, leaned on him a little, got the name of Shane's dealer. _He's_ in prison now, we caught him with – oh, but that's not relevant. He got quite upset when we mentioned Shane's name, said Shane owed him three hundred, and if he'd known he was back in town…" Casey shrugged.

"The case is still open though, isn't it?" Gwaine said.

"My partner is kind of a jackass," Casey confided. "Yes, technically the case is still open, but Shane's over eighteen, and there was no crime scene. We recovered the car but no usable evidence – it was stripped and torched. No activity on his bank card – I mean, you'd have to do some arguing that a crime was even committed, and my partner doesn't believe it. He doesn't want to waste company time or resources on it anymore."

"No crime scene," Merlin said, thinking of a strip of sidewalk and a thick evergreen and repressing a shudder. "I thought you said there was blood?"

"Well, I checked out Ms. Littlefield's suspicion that Shane had gone out that morning right after she left for work. I got lucky with some footage off a traffic cam near his house, showed him turning into the parking lot of the local community center."

"And?" Gwaine said, leaning forward, knife and fork momentarily at rest.

"Talked to a couple of workers who were there that morning," Casey said. "Seems Shane met with a couple guys, thirties to forties, business-casual dress, at a table in the corner of the lounge area. No one got anything of the conversation – one person thought they were arguing. No one saw any altercation, but we found blood on the carpet by that area, gravitational drops. I mean, that could be something as simple as a nosebleed or something, you know?"

"Cameras in the community center?" Gwaine said.

"Yes, but that particular corner was a blind spot."

"What about when he left again?" Merlin asked. "That traffic cam?"

Casey shook his head. "Nothing. You can see his car pull in, but not out – though there is a back alley to a side street _without_ cameras."

"And no ID on these two guys?" Gwaine asked.

"Nothing."

Business casual didn't read drug dealer, Merlin thought. Business casual – job offer – initial excitement leads to hesitant decline – avoiding surveillance cameras… "What company offered Shane Littlefield employment?" he asked.

Gwaine said, "You think _they_ had something to do with it?"

It sounded ridiculous. Corporate recruiters simply did not abduct prospective employees. Then again, doctors and research scientists did not abduct test subjects in order to drain their blood and fry their memories and cure telekinesis, either.

Casey was already into his briefcase, pulling out a cream-colored file folder. "You guys can have this, if you're going to investigate," he said, flipping through the loose sheets of information. "Talked to the interviewer, and the head of HR for the branch in Seattle," he continued, "both women. Neither one recognized the description given by the community center employees of the two men… they said they offered Shane a job based on his skillset…"

"Did they specify his skills as a mechanic?" Merlin said. The idea of an amateur mechanic just out of high school, no matter how skilled, scouted by the kind of corporation that had branches was pretty unbelievable.

"Was it a car dealership?" Gwaine scoffed.

"They declined to go into further detail," Casey said. "Said it was confidential – my partner didn't think it was important – ah, here it is." He handed a card to Merlin, who stared at the tiny paperboard rectangle, hearing Casey continue but dimly, "There wasn't much by way of a paper trail. They spoke to him on the phone to invite him for the interview, and he got cold feet before anything went in writing."

"What is it?" Gwaine said to Merlin. "Are you all right?"

Merlin didn't lift his eyes from the business card. Seattle address. Motto, _Let our skills serve your needs_. Permanent and temporary employee placement, professionals in every field. Halbyon, Incorporated. The lowercase 'l' in the company name was a tiny upraised sword, glinting with golden embossing on the card.

Merlin shivered. Gwaine took it from his fingers, scanned it and frowned in ignorance.

"I don't like it," Merlin told him bluntly. "Something feels – very wrong about this."

Gwaine turned back to Casey. "You've got the address of that community center in the file? Think we'll go check that out this afternoon. Last place anyone saw Shane Littlefield, maybe we can work out where he went from there."

"Or was taken," Merlin said. He felt very odd, like his body and his mouth were half-drunk, sloppy and careless, but his mind was clear and sharp. _If anyone would understand, I thought, it would be Marvin Caroban…_ Things missing, things moved, things broken… "_I said I wouldn't, but I have my reasons – I wish I could explain_. What if Halbyon made him an offer he _couldn't_ refuse?"

"Why would they want a mechanic so badly?" Casey said, bemused.

"Have you got samples of Shane Littlefield's blood?" Merlin said.

"We cut a whole square from the rug from the community center," Casey said. "We only needed a little to check the DNA against a sample provided by his mother, to check for drugs in his system – but those tests were all negative."

"Could you have a sample sent to Dr. Augustus Sagesse of Camelot Laboratories?" Merlin said.

"You don't think that –" Gwaine stopped abruptly.

"Yeah, I can probably – though if the NSA sent an official request it would help move things along," Casey said.

"I'll – call Arthur right now," Merlin said, standing up and reaching for his phone in the satchel slung across the back of his chair.

As he stepped away from the table he heard Casey say, "So, Agent Kraft, how did you meet Marvin?"

"There was this bar," Gwaine said, and Merlin rolled his eyes, stifling a groan.

He stepped through the lobby and out the front door, where the drizzle had slowed to a fine gray mist. He leaned against the outer wall of the Boston Market, where there was a little shelter from the roof overhang. As the phone rang on the call to Arthur, he snapped his lighter and inhaled the nicotine.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting," Merlin said. "Are you busy? How's the first day of the new branch going?"

"No, it's fine," Arthur said. "Actually, it's going pretty smoothly – better than Denver in fact… What's up?"

"I need a favor," Merlin said. "I need you to get Chance to fax an official request to the FBI field office in Seattle, to the special agent in charge. He needs to request a blood sample from the Shane Littlefield case be sent back to Gaius at the lab. Have you got that?"

"Chance… FBI… Shane Littlefield… blood sample sent to Gaius," Arthur said. "I'll call Chance right away. So you've made progress on the case?"

"I – don't know yet, it's too early to say," Merlin said. He didn't want to say over the phone, _I think your sword's been found, and the company that owns it just abducted someone who may or may not have_… "Okay, I have to go. I should call Gaius, give him a heads-up, then Gwaine and I are heading to Shane's last known location."

"Okay," Arthur said. "Figure on dinner at six-thirty in the hotel's restaurant?"

"Yeah," Merlin said. And over Arthur's teasing voice he said, "_Yes_, I know – I won't be late." He heard Arthur laughing as he pushed the button to end the call. Keying for Gaius' number, he caught the voicemail feature, which wasn't unusual for his grandfather – there was no phone in the lab itself. "Gaius," Merlin said as the recording feature clicked on. "The FBI are sending a blood sample from the case I'm working here in Seattle. Could you please do two things for me? Could you check the sample for any sign of –" he swallowed with difficulty – "of the Emrys strain? And could you double-check with the CDC that they destroyed or disposed of all the samples they had from me? Thanks, Gaius, I'll talk to you later."

He flipped the smoldering cigarette out onto the wet sidewalk, watched the orange glow fade and die in the pervasive damp, the last wisp of smoke rise and dissipate.

Probably it was nothing. Probably Shane had been tempted and succumbed to his addictions once again. It happened every day, didn't it, in these big cities? But Merlin was painfully aware that these suggestions had been made about him, two and a half years ago… and Arthur, their friends, had refused to believe it about him.

Who did Shane have to believe in him? _I knew you would understand_…

Merlin pushed himself away from the restaurant's outside wall and re-entered, noticing as he approached the table that Casey was miming a pistol with his hand, forefinger extended, telling Gwaine some animated story. They both looked up as he leaned over the back of his chair, his hand on the strap of the satchel.

"Arthur said he'd call the NSA for that request," Merlin told Casey, then looked at Gwaine. "The community center?"

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin hadn't expected to find much. Shane had been missing six weeks already, after all, and the place was probably cleaned on a daily basis. He seated himself at one of the tables in the lounge area – not the one in the far corner that was out of camera range – and let Gwaine do the active investigating.

Gwaine scrutinized the area, the new rug, the chairs, the tables, even turning them over to view the undersides. Merlin simply sat. It was a relaxed atmosphere, a public place. At odds with the tension in Shane's letter. He'd known who he was to meet – had anticipated pain for his mother, had apologized. _Don't look for me, you won't find me._

Merlin slid his laptop from his old satchel, opened it up, and began to work. First he slipped into the closed-circuit security system for the community center, watched the footage of the morning Shane had visited. There were the two strangers – nondescript in every way, their faces never on camera.

They were either very lucky, or very good.

They entered together – and there was Shane – and after less than ten minutes off-camera in the corner they left. It looked like Shane was holding something to his face, handkerchief or wad of tissues, but neither man touched him. And if they hadn't been told that Shane met and spoke with the two men, it couldn't be proved by the video. Not one of the three looked at or spoke to either of the others on recording.

The back alley was a blind spot, as was the side street, as Casey had claimed.

Merlin leaned forward over the computer, jumping into other surveillance – traffic and ATM cams, private security – in an expanding radius. He caught two glimpses of Shane's car - the distance was too great for hard evidence – before he lost the trail. It was on a line with the marina, though.

Okay, so that was a dead end. No guarantee it was Shane driving the car, anyway, especially if it ended up stripped and torched.

Merlin was vaguely aware of Gwaine chatting to an employee of the center, following the middle-aged woman out of the lounge area, presumably to ask his own questions of other employees.

He turned his attention to Halbyon. It was harder to gain access to their system than he'd anticipated, especially since he didn't want to be noticed. He snooped around their dual employee/client website, noting the wide variety of professions they provided personnel for, the number of cities there were branches in. He bypassed the public-access areas to search internal data, and found the source of available talent much deeper than expected – and also much faster-flowing. He wondered how many of these people had sought employment with Halbyon, and how many had been scouted or recruited on the company's initiative.

He found nothing on the Artorius Blade.

Nothing to give away what they'd want an eighteen-year-old mechanic for so badly that they'd be willing to coerce cooperation so forcefully that Shane had written a goodbye letter to his mother. If that was what had happened… He wondered suddenly whether the company had been so named _after_ the sword had been found in Somerset. _Halbyon_… He shivered, remembering Arthur's assurances that the hacker going by the name Mordred was completely unrelated to the druid boy that had killed his king, fifteen hundred years ago.

He glanced through the company's security cameras, and his attention was caught by one small, badly focused image from a back area, a loading dock for shipping and receiving. Halbyon used white full-size vans, unmarked and with dark tinting on the windows of the passenger area, hinge-doors on the driver's side.

Merlin slid back out of the Halbyon system, backtracked to the traffic cams around the community center. Two minutes after the strangers and Shane had exited the building, a white van matching those used by Halbyon could be seen turning into an on-ramp for Highway 5.

His fingers flew, tracking that van, catching distant glimpses of it on the highway, until it exited to 15th Avenue. The address of the Halbyon office was 15th Avenue.

It was tenuous at best, he knew. But at least it warranted another visit to Halbyon. Gwaine could be usefully hard-nosed about an investigation when he wished to be, and Merlin – well, Merlin had magic. If Halbyon was involved in Shane's disappearance, Merlin was confident they could discover that. He checked his watch, wondering if they could go there immediately, even just to snoop around the perimeter.

His phone rang the tones of a Simon and Garfunkel song. _Hello, darkness, my old friend… I've come to talk with you again… _

It was Arthur. "Chance said he received the confirmation from the FBI office," the former king said. "They'll expedite the transfer of the sample for Gaius… What did you find out, Merlin? Surely the FBI ran all the usual tests?"

"I wanted Gaius to run an unusual one," Merlin said, in a good humor from the hope his discovery had given him. Now if he could just find Gwaine – he folded his laptop shut, manhandled it into his satchel.

"Looking for what?" Arthur said.

"Do you mind if I don't say, yet?" Merlin could just imagine Arthur overreacting at the mention of the Emrys strain, shifting to high protect-Merlin gear. "I'll tell you if I'm right, and if not – it won't matter."

"Sounds like you have made some progress," Arthur said approvingly, then, "_No, Leon, it's just Merlin – fine, you all continue with that proposal – sounds good_. Merlin – you done for the day, then?"

"Maybe." Merlin caught sight of Gwaine around a corner, and trotted after him. "Think I've made a connection between Shane's last known location and the company that offered him a job – I know it sounds crazy, but they might have put enough pressure on him… though _why_, I couldn't say, yet. I'm going to try to talk Gwaine into going to their office –"

"Merlin," Arthur interrupted, and his voice sounded strained. "What company? What's their name?"

"It's a personnel supply company," Merlin said. "Human resources specialists – Halbyon Incorporated." There was a long silence before Merlin ventured, "Why?"

Arthur swore softly. "Merlin, do not go anywhere near that company, do you understand me?"

"Arthur, what –" Merlin stopped walking.

"You are forbidden, do you hear me, from visiting or contacting Halbyon in any way –"

"Damn, Arthur, I'm not a child," Merlin said, annoyed. "I'm not stupid. Gwaine's with me. If you thought we couldn't handle this investigation, why'd you bring –"

"Merlin!" Arthur thundered through the phone, and conflicting parts of Merlin wanted simultaneously to rebel, and to submit. "Dammit, would you just listen to me for once?"

"I might, if you'd say anything that makes any sense," Merlin snapped back.

"Please, Merlin, if you ever loved me, do not disobey this order – do not go to Halbyon."

Merlin counted to ten, breathing evenly. "Do you mind explaining why not, sire?" he said.

Arthur's frustrated sigh crackled through the phone. "I'd rather discuss it in person," he said.

Merlin said, "Short version." Then his heart seemed to flip. _Hell. Fire. I think they want to hire you._

"That file you found in my car," Arthur said. "It's Halbyon's. They want _you_, Merlin."

**A/N: The Holmes quote is Dr. Watson's observation from **_**The Sign of Four**_**.**

**And, thanks to all the reviewers I didn't thank with a PM – you are important, too! :D**


	6. Connected

**Chapter 6: Connected**

Arthur pushed the button to end the call with Merlin, and immediately keyed to send a text to Gwaine. **Take M back 2 hotel n wait 4 us there**.

"What's the matter, Arthur?" Leon said from the door of the conference room.

"Nothing much," Arthur said. "A little snag with the investigation, we'll talk about it back at the hotel." Gwaine's response chimed onto his phone. **Ok but ?** "Are we close to being done here?"

"We just need to go over that marketing issue," Leon said, and Arthur trailed him back into the room, texting.

** Xplain when we come.**

It was one of the longest hours of Arthur's life, and he'd had plenty of those. As Leon pulled the rental car into the parking lot, Arthur's phone alerted him to another text from Gwaine. **Wtf did u say 2 him? U better come soon**. Arthur cursed under his breath.

"Everything all right?" Leon said, half-amused, half-concerned.

"Trouble follows that boy like a cloud," Arthur growled. "I wanted him away from D.C. for a reason – and now that reason is here. There is no such thing as coincidence when it comes to Merlin. Come on, we have some talking to do."

"Some more talking, you mean?" Leon was gently ironic, following Arthur through the hotel lobby, down the hall to the elevators. "We've been talking all day."

Arthur's mood matched Gwaine's expression when the dark-haired knight opened the door of room 459. Normally a grin covered the range of emotions for the man, from genuine cheerfulness to spoiling-for-a-fight. But Gwaine looked as dark as the Seattle sky and immediately demanded, "Did you _know_?"

"Know what?" Arthur said.

Gwaine didn't move to let them in. "Three years ago, you said, he had a rough childhood. You didn't say anything about _abuse_."

"Oh, that," Arthur said, cringing at the memory he still carried, of printed photos on Gaius' coffee table.

"What?" Leon said.

"_Oh, that_?" Gwaine repeated in disbelief. "You didn't say anything about ER visits and broken bones and stitches and _court cases_. You didn't say anything about therapists and medication when he was a damn _kid_."

"Gwaine," Arthur said. "Not in the hallway."

The knight stared at him a moment, then shoved the door aside, letting them into the entryway far enough that the door could swing shut behind Leon. "You knew," he said, his voice low.

Arthur glanced past Gwaine, but could see nothing but the tv, the desk, and the foot of two beds. The light was not on in the bathroom next to them. "Where is he?" he said.

"Where is he?" Gwaine repeated again. "_Now_ you're worried about him? Listen to this." He jerked his head over his shoulder, and they all fell silent to hear the radio playing softly.

_ And I don't want the world to see me… 'cause I don't think that they'd understand… When everything's made to be broken… I just want you to know who I am…_ It made Arthur feel sick to his stomach. Did nothing change for Merlin?

"You knew about all that shit, didn't you?" Gwaine said, his voice still low, but accusing. _And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming… _

"Calm down, Gwaine," Leon said. "About all of what?" _Or the moment of truth in your lies…_

"Yes, I knew," Arthur said, keeping his tone quiet also. "Gaius told me. When we were trying to work out – why he didn't remember." _When everything feels like the movies… _

Gwaine's eyes shut briefly. "He said, _They told me, there's no such thing – I _had to_ believe it_." Leon let out a low whistle, and Gwaine looked at Arthur again, his brows still lowered. "So what did _you_ do about it?"

Arthur didn't have to say, what do you mean. He'd had to fight similar urges, himself. "You think I should've gotten on a plane and come here?" he said softly. "Found the people responsible for hurting my best friend so badly, and what? waited for them up a dark alley?" _Yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive… _

Leon had always been good at making connections without knowing all the details. He said to Gwaine calmly, "He couldn't have done anything about it, Gwaine."

"Maybe not, but _I_ could've." Gwaine scowled at the dark patterned carpet. "That dark alley's not such a bad idea."

"This from a former officer of the law?" Leon pointed out.

Gwaine snorted as if he was not entirely willing to concede the point. "I asked him and asked him and finally he gave me that _look_ – you know the one – and said, _you're not helping_."

"What happened?" Leon said. "You were going to see his caseworker – was it too much for him?"

Gwaine gave a rather cynical smile. "No. It was almost too much for _me_. He – was incredible. I was so proud of him, you know? It couldn't have been easy… so now, what, Arthur? What did you say to him on the phone?"

"Where is he?" Arthur said again.

Gwaine jerked his thumb over his shoulder and turned into the room as the clock radio on the stand between the beds segued to a new song. _I been sitting here… trying to find myself... _The former knight groaned. "It's been the same sort of stuff ever since we got back," he said. _I get behind myself… I need to rewind myself_…

Arthur didn't know what he'd expected, but Merlin was nowhere to be seen. Leon said, "So where is –" at the same time that Arthur caught the movement at the window. _Looking for the payback… listening for the playback…_

"Sitting on the damn ledge," Gwaine said, gesturing. _They say every man bleeds just like me_…

Arthur wanted to sprint, but made himself move slowly, almost carefully, to the window. There was a ledge, maybe eighteen inches wide, where Merlin sat, one leg drawn up and one dangling. He wore a sweatshirt, but the hood was down at the back of his neck. He was gazing out toward the Sound, and Arthur couldn't identify his expression in profile. _I take too many pills… it helps to ease the pain…_

"How'd he get out there?" Leon said. "Our window doesn't open at all." Arthur looked – this window had no latch, no track for it to slide along, either.

"Went through the damn glass," was Gwaine's quieter, more frustrated reply.

Smoke wafted from underneath Merlin's fingers, curled on his knee, and he flicked ash casually over the four-story drop. Arthur noticed six butts next to his friend on the damp ledge. It wasn't raining, but Merlin had evidently been out there long enough for the mist to soak his clothing and hair, and bead on his skin. One drop trickled down his face like a tear. _Everybody knows my name… they say it way out loud…_

Arthur put his hand on the glass and said, "Merlin." He turned to look in the window at Arthur. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. "Come inside?" Arthur added.

Merlin took a last draw on his cigarette and exhaled slowly, stubbing it out on the ledge by the others. Then he swung himself to his feet – Arthur's heart in his throat and his palms prickling at the sorcerer's apparent disregard of the height. Arthur stepped back at the sudden buffet of damp cold wind that came in the open space. Merlin ducked to step through the window onto the desk in the corner, his damp shoes squeaking on the wood._ They don't understand… about the shit that I've been through…_

The glass reappeared to close the window. The eeriness of the silence was heightened by the salty smell of the sea clinging to the sorcerer. He dropped unceremoniously from the desk and stripped his sodden sweatshirt off to the t-shirt underneath, shook the excess water from his hair. For a moment he looked at the three of them watching him, as if they were all strangers. The radio buzzed briefly, then blinked off.

Merlin's eyes rested on Arthur. "Do you want to start, or shall I?" he said.

Arthur sighed and sat backwards onto the bed nearest the window, matching Gwaine's posture on the other bed. Leon leaned against the side of the tv console, his arms folded across his chest. "Halbyon Incorporated has been after a merger with Camelot for several months, now," he said. "Rick thinks it's a good idea and my father wants it to happen, but I told them no."

"Halbyon," Leon said. "Doesn't that sound like –"

"Yes," Merlin said evenly. "Yes, it does."

"Why?" Gwaine said. "I mean, why'd you turn them down?"

Arthur shrugged. "I got a bad vibe from them." He let one side of a reluctant grin show. "Had one of Merlin's funny feelings they weren't being straight with me on a number of issues. Last week Tuesday –" Merlin's gaze darkened intently – "their VP of personnel acquisitions managed to corner me."

"Managed to corner _you_?" Leon said dryly.

"Personnel acquisitions," Gwaine said thoughtfully, glancing at Merlin.

"Was that why you didn't tell me?" Merlin said quietly, directly to Arthur. _Tuesday_ meant something else to him. Arthur felt stifled by the irony that someone like Wendy would embrace Merlin's identity while Freya…

He sighed and rubbed his head. "I thought, after the publicity we had over the drone thing, and the marathon, and – well, because of Merlin's contract, I thought they might be after some control of Merlin's work. I was worried, if they started paying close attention to what he could do –"

"The magic would not be secret any longer," Leon supplied.

"I mis-calculated, rather badly," Arthur admitted, and met Merlin's eyes. "Wendy Doran of Halbyon Incorporated knows Jan Steffan, knows her work, and spoke to her about you, specifically." Merlin's expression didn't change, but he felt behind him for the desk chair, turned it away from the desk just enough to catch him as he sat. "She said, Halbyon has a subcategory of employees capable of controlling parapsychological phenomena, that they contract out to various law enforcement agencies."

Leon said slowly, "Parapsychological phenomena…"

"They don't want you for your computer work alone," Arthur told Merlin. "They want you for your magic."

Conflicting emotions passed over Merlin's face - revulsion, but also a sudden swift light of yearning, that was so severely suppressed that Arthur felt a deep anxious pang. There was no need for that, for hiding, between them, anymore, not even their feelings, was there?

Gwaine said, "A whole department of people like Merlin?"

"No one is like Merlin," Arthur snapped.

"Are we dealing with the Emrys strain, again?" Leon asked.

"I don't –" Arthur stopped, and pointed a finger accusingly at his sorcerer. "Is that what you needed that NSA request for? Is that what you wanted Gaius to check the blood sample for?"

"Yes."

Arthur looked at him a moment, then said, "I believe I'm finished for now. Merlin, what have you got to say?"

"When Eddie was telling us about Shane," Merlin began, glancing from Arthur to Leon, to see that they remembered the case as he'd outlined it for them during the trip. Leon nodded, Arthur twirled his finger for Merlin to continue. "I started to wonder. Eddie, I guess, had suspected my magic even when I was a kid. She said, if anyone could understand, it was me. She said, things missing, things moved, things broken. He came home one night scared, said he had to get away. She said, it was like an engine could tell him what was wrong, and how to fix it."

Arthur straightened. Carol had said, a long time ago, that Merlin did all his communicating with computers.

"If Halbyon has a secret department of – telekinetics and psychics and whatnot," Gwaine said, in a tone of discovery, "you think they wanted Shane because of those abilities, not the mechanic skills… that does make more sense."

"But, Merlin," Leon said seriously, "if they were willing to do these things – threaten Shane, burn his car – you're probably not safe, either."

Merlin took a deep breath, and for an instant he looked almost unrecognizably dangerous. Then he let out the breath, and glanced over at Arthur. "I have to keep looking for him," he said softly. "If he doesn't want to be with Halbyon, he shouldn't have to. What he said on the phone – _no, don't_, the blood, the letter – that's not right, Arthur."

"We'll help you, then," Arthur said.

Merlin held his gaze another moment, then dipped his head in acknowledgement. "There's something else, Arthur," he said, and leaned forward to unzip the side pocket of the battered backpack that served as his luggage. Sliding a folded sheet that had the glossy look of a magazine page and torn edges from the pocket, he handed it to Arthur.

It was an ad for a Seattle museum, detailing a special exhibit of medieval weaponry, only it was month out of date.

"Third picture," Merlin said.

The first and second pictures were of a shield and a helmet, the third showed a sword… Arthur took a deep breath as his heart leaped. The image was much too tiny for any kind of rational recognition, but… he looked at Merlin.

"It's _yours_, isn't it?" Merlin said.

"His what?" Leon asked, coming to Arthur's side.

"The photo is much too small to know for sure," Arthur said. His mouth felt dry. He read the caption: _The Artorius Blade_… _Recovered in 1993 by fishermen on a lake near Glastonbury in Somerset…_

"You _know_, though, don't you," Merlin said. "And Halbyon has it."

Halbyon has it_. I confess_, Wendy had said,_ I've always been a fan of the Arthurian legends, it's part of why I work for Halbyon… I'm right, aren't I - He is Merlin, and you are Arthur…_ Ye gods, as if Merlin needed another reason to be drawn to Halbyon.

Arthur steadied himself and said calmly, "The odds against it are – astronomical."

Merlin was shaking his head as Arthur spoke. Leon said, "What happened to Arthur's sword, anyway? Is it possible?"

"The last thing I remember… the last thing I dreamed," Merlin said, "the lake…" _I don't remember a lake_, Arthur thought obstinately, then realized why he didn't share that memory. Merlin met his eyes and gave him a little smile, tears shining in deep blue eyes. "I threw the sword into the lake," he said.

There was a moment of silence, each man, Arthur assumed, intent on his own memories. It was not a topic that came up, much, aside from the occasional joking – _remember the time that we_… They'd never discussed… the _end_.

"If _he's_ back, why not the sword?" Gwaine said.

"The sword from the stone," Leon added. "The stories do get some of it right, once in a while."

"We don't know that _this_ was _that_," Arthur said, a little sharply, shaking the sheet, then refolding it. "Anyway, this particular museum piece isn't even in Seattle, anymore, so –"

"It's in D.C.," Merlin murmured. He had on his face the same luminous expression, of deep joy and hope colored just slightly by the irreverent quirk of his mouth that he'd worn when leading Arthur through the trees to the clearing where the sword waited. Telling that ridiculous story…

"But we're here," Arthur said firmly. "And the sword has nothing to do with Shane."

"A question to be answered another day," Leon commented diplomatically.

Arthur caught a flash of determination from Merlin's eyes that made him groan inwardly. This was not, he feared, going to be something Merlin would willingly let go. But he feared what further involvement with Halbyon Incorporated might mean, for either of them.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur woke to a vague sense that something was wrong. He was sprawled horizontal, on his stomach across a large bed, he could feel that without opening his eyes. He heard the sound of the door shutting, then more subtle sounds of distant activity. The curtain shuffled open, and Merlin's voice said quietly, "Arthur?"

Well, that was wrong. Merlin was always boisterously loud, annoyingly cheerful. Rise and shine. "What?" Arthur mumbled, turning his head away from the muted light coming in the window. "It can't be morning yet."

"Leon left for the branch office just now – I met him in the hallway. Gwaine's still sleeping in our room, but I –"

Arthur groaned, rolling over. Merlin lounged in the chair next to the bed, wearing jeans and a light gray t-shirt, his laptop balanced on one leg. The gray of the Seattle sky was visible through the window.

Oh, yeah. This mess. "You couldn't have let me sleep a little longer?" Arthur grouched.

"Sorry." Merlin combed his hair with his fingers; it was still wet from a shower.

Shower was a good idea. He sat up, pushing cover and sheets away, rubbing his eyes, then his face, then his whole head.

"I brought cinnamon rolls," Merlin added, "and started your coffee pot."

Arthur grunted. He straightened from the bed, rummaged in his suitcase for a set of casual clothes, and headed for the bathroom.

When he came out, he found that Merlin had made the bed, tucking the coverlet over the pillows surprisingly neatly, and was seated in the middle of it, cross-legged, hunched over his laptop. "Make yourself at home," he said crossly.

"Have a coffee," Merlin returned, in much the same tone, but teasingly. "Do us both a favor."

The cinnamon rolls were surprisingly good, fresh and with orange-flavored glaze. Arthur sat down with his second and a Styrofoam cup of coffee in front of his own laptop on the desk. "What are you working on?" he asked.

"Since you don't want me going to Halbyon, Seattle," Merlin murmured, "I thought I'd have to get some answers this way. I'm sure that Shane was brought there from the community center, but I'd like to find out what happened to him after that…"

Arthur leaned back in the desk chair, comfortably padded, rocking negligently as he finished the cinnamon roll, then yawned. He found the perpetually gray overcast sky of the city had a soporific effect on him, though not, evidently, on Merlin. _Perhaps after eighteen years of it one adjusts and overcomes_, he thought lazily. That might be Merlin's philosophy in a nutshell. Adjust and overcome.

His own laptop, open on the desk beside him, chimed an alert. He glanced at the description of the new message, and sighed, drumming his fingers in frustrated indecision before clicking into the message.

"What is it?" Merlin said in a detached sort of way, half his attention on his own work, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

"Rick Hennessy," Arthur said, and started reading the message.

It began civilly, hitting the right tone between respect and familiarity, delineating a handful of updates and clarifications relating to Camelot Technologies issues, defining one decisions Arthur needed to make before his and Rick's next scheduled meeting. Arthur began to feel downright guilty about the way he'd been avoiding the manager, the way his disinclination to handle the question of the merger was beginning to affect his opinion of the man personally.

_But now, Arthur, I cannot in good conscience neglect to mention the unsettled business with Halbyon, Incorporated,_ the last paragraph began. _I received an edited offer yesterday, which would be of great profit to Camelot, both actually and potentially. I would not be doing my job to the best of my abilities for you and for our company if I did not bring it to your attention (see attached proposal)._

_ However_ – and Arthur could sense Rick's delicate hesitation – _I find myself at a loss to deduce the motivation sufficient to prompt an offer that seems to weigh so heavily in Camelot's favor, and this gives me pause. You and I have not seen eye to eye on the proposed merger, and I admit I did not understand your reluctance to agree to such a profitable move._

There was definitely an implied _until now_.  
_I have been in business long enough to know that when something appears too good to be true, it usually is. Upon your return from the new Securities branch in Seattle, I would appreciate the opportunity to sit down with you at a time and in a place where we can be inoffensively blunt about a final decision on this matter. I feel privileged by the amount of trust you've placed in me to handle the affairs of our business and I look forward to a frank exchange of information to our mutual benefit_.

He swiveled the desk chair just enough to be able to see his friend, his pale face lit by the screen's glow and an occasional stray gleam of golden magic from his eyes under the shaggy black fringe of hair.

"What?" Merlin said, and Arthur realized that without lifting his head, his sorcerer had shifted his gaze to Arthur's face.

"Have you got anything?" Arthur asked, stretching.

Merlin only grunted, and it was impossible for Arthur to guess whether that meant _no nothing_, or _yes I'm hard on the trail_ or _I'm not ready to share_.

"I think Halbyon tipped their hand a little," Arthur said, and Merlin straightened. "It sounds like Rick's getting suspicious, and he wants us to put all our cards on the table, too."

Merlin's expression turned thoughtful. "Maybe we should just meet with Halbyon," he said. "Find out exactly what they want from me."

"Are you kidding me?" Arthur said. "This is the company you're investigating for abducting your friend." Merlin opened his mouth obstinately, and Arthur said, "Don't even try to tell me, _I'm perfectly safe I'm the most powerful damn sorcerer_, not after Wendy Doran told me straight up she used to be friends with Jan Steffan and _they_ took you and held you for five days, and could have killed you if they'd wanted to."

"Are you never going to let me live that down?" Merlin said crossly.

"I'm just saying, Merlin, you're only human," Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "It scares the hell out of me, honestly, the thought that someone could take you away from me."

"Never gonna happen," Merlin said lightly. "Fraid you're stuck with me, sire." A knock sounded on the door, and Merlin's eyes flashed gold before the door latch depressed.

"Aren't you even going to say, who is it?" Arthur said, amused.

Gwaine pushed his way into the room, looked rumpled and half-awake, holding out Merlin's phone as he rubbed his eyes with his other hand. "You left your phone, mate," he said. Merlin's chosen ringtone sounded again, _In restless dreams I walked alone… narrow streets of cobblestone… _

"Thanks," Merlin said, holding up his hand to catch the phone Gwaine hadn't tossed, but the former knight didn't so much as flinch as their friend's magic snatched it from his hand. "Cinnamon rolls and coffee just beside you on the counter." Gwaine mumbled something as Merlin touched the screen. "Morning, Gaius. Arthur and Gwaine are here, and I've got you on speaker."

"Good morning, sire." The old man's voice rose thinly from the device Merlin carefully placed on the bed between them. "I trust your time in Seattle has proven fruitful, thus far."

"Yes, thank you," Arthur said. "Leon is at the branch again today, and everything's going smoothly. We're giving our attention now to the missing-persons case – Merlin explained that he wanted you to test a blood sample for the Emrys strain?"

"Yes," Gaius replied. "It was sent overnight and delivered by courier to the lab this morning. I've just finished my assessment."

"And?" Merlin said intently. Gwaine wandered over, balancing his roll on a napkin and his coffee in the other hand.

"I consulted the notes I'd made while studying the Longley sample from two and a half years ago, and I have to say, I'm astonished at the conclusion I was forced to reach." He paused, and Arthur met Merlin's eyes, both of them leaned intently over the phone. Gwaine had frozen in place, standing next to the bed, his mouth full. Gaius continued, "I was able to trace in Longley's sample the addition of the Emrys strain – not your blood pure and unadulterated, you understand, Merlin, but a derivative of the genetic code – which was all accounted for and destroyed by the CDC that November, yes, my contact double- and triple-checked that for me. However, in the Littlefield sample there were – certain resemblences, _without_ the clear connection to the Emrys strain that the Longley sample displayed."

"What does that mean?" Arthur said.

"It means, sire, that the young man in question shares genetic similarities with Merlin, but without the distinctive addition of the Emrys strain."

Gwaine swallowed and said, "What, like they're related?"

"No, no – well, think of it this way. Arthur and Merlin both possess in their DNA code the dominant gene for blue eyes, though the color is not exactly the same, and there is no familial link between them."

"You mean to say," Merlin said deliberately, "that magic shows up in Shane Littlefield's DNA, the same way it does in mine?"

"Yes, however, it is not an exact match. Again, as with the example of eye color, though the same descriptive word _blue_ would be used, the hue would be unique. Likewise, the magic might be expected to present in a variety of ways."

Arthur said numbly, "Those capable of controlling all manner of parapsychological phenomena."

"Exactly so," Gaius said. "But if this was the reason for your friend's disappearance, Merlin, please do be careful."

"I always am," Merlin said, the faintest hint of complaint in his tone.

"Arthur?" Gaius added.

"I'll look after him," Arthur promised, and at the look on Merlin's face he grinned and corrected himself, "We'll look out for each other."

"Damn straight," Gwaine added cheerfully.

"Your flight is on Thursday?" Gaius asked.

"First thing in the morning. We'll let you know if that changes." If they needed more time to find Shane Littlefield, Arthur thought, they'd take it. Depending on Leon's report on the new branch, they might be free of those responsibilities by the end of the day.

"Take care, Gaius," Merlin said, picking up the phone.

"I'll see you Friday," the old man responded, and the call ended.

"So what's the plan for today?" Gwaine asked, yawning before he drained the last of his coffee from the Styrofoam cup.

"Merlin's trying to get a lead on where Shane Littlefield might have gone after Halbyon," Arthur said. "Now I probably can't go there without being recognized, and it might be a bad idea for you to go alone, as an NSA, without a warrant. But I don't know how much you'll be able to find as a private citizen dropping in, either. I think our best bet is –"

"He's there," Merlin said suddenly. "Look." His fingers clattered briefly over his keyboard, and the screen of Arthur's laptop blinked to a grainy black-and-white camera view of two men walking along a sidewalk between the wall of a building and a hedge. "The one on the left is Shane – you get a better view when he turns around."

"Where is this, Halbyon?" Gwaine said, leaning over Arthur's shoulder.

"They think their internal security system is impenetrable," Merlin said with a furtive smile. "They're mostly right. It would be nearly impossible to gain access, even for the most talented hacker."

"Good thing we've got a sorcerer then," Gwaine said. "Now that we have proof he's there, what next?"

"I'll send Casey what we've got so far," Merlin suggested. "If they can get a warrant, we can go there ASAP." A gleam of excited anticipation lit Merlin's face.

"Send it," Arthur said. "At least with a warrant they can't simply refuse to discuss it and show us the door." Merlin nodded and bent to his work again.

Gwaine said to Arthur, "Mind if I take a look, sire?" motioning to his laptop, still running the footage from Halbyon's internal security cameras.

Arthur shrugged and pushed himself up from the chair. He wandered to the window and looked out toward the Sound. He still felt a very real though inexplicable aversion to the thought of setting foot on Halbyon property.

He didn't like what they'd learned, either about the company or about Merlin's friend. Halbyon evidently employed people with what used to be called _magical_ abilities. Trying to storm such a place would be like attacking an enemy force with sorcerers hidden in their midst. They knew too little. They needed more recon, more intel. But even then…

He remembered wondering under what conditions anyone would be able to hold Merlin against his will. Shane Littlefield had evidently turned the offer down. Maybe they blackmailed him, too? Photos of him performing whatever _extranatural_ feats he was capable of? Blackmail was always tricky to handle, you never knew who the victim was going to side with. Or whether they were going to admit to being controlled, rather than acting under their own volition.

Why would Halbyon want a reluctantly coerced employee? It didn't make sense. The corporations who'd been after Camelot's computer genius had been lavish with offers of salary and benefits. Halbyon had come with a folder of questionable photos – and a too-lucrative merger.

Behind him, Merlin cursed. The keys of his laptop clicked swiftly, then paused, then he cursed again, and lifted a frown to Arthur as he turned from the window. "Casey says no dice," he said. "There's not enough solid evidence that a crime was committed. No warrant."

"We could go without one," Gwaine suggested. "Are they keeping him there twenty-four-seven? Best if we go at night, don't you think? Have you got more of the security tapes? We can get an idea of the layout of the place –"

"I'll go you one better," Merlin said, dividing a grin between Arthur and Gwaine, before diving into his computer with both hands, eyes gleaming gold. "I'll get blueprints and building specs – between that and the security footage, we'll know where every camera is, every guard, every other security measure." He jutted his chin at the laptop in front of Gwaine, so as not to slow his hands. "Coming to you."

"You sure they're keeping him at the office around the clock?" Arthur said. "They're not taking him somewhere else overnight?"

"As far as I can tell," Merlin answered absently, "and at least through last week."

Arthur turned to stare out the window, his instincts resisting the idea. There wasn't enough for a warrant. Why not? Because there was no proof Shane had been abducted, rather than going willingly. _I have my reasons_, the letter Eddie had given Merlin read. _Don't look for me_. Even if he'd been threatened… the footage of the community center Merlin had played for them yesterday had shown him walking freely from a public place. The footage they'd just seen – Shane hadn't been alone, but he'd been outside, not restrained or imprisoned…

In the final analysis, Shane Littlefield had chosen to go to Halbyon. If they didn't know why, it was just as likely he'd resist their attempt to rescue him, and might even return once they'd gotten him free. They needed to know the nature of his agreement with the company – before they broke into the building illegally.

"Lemme see the one of the third floor, again," Gwaine said. "I think they've got a blind spot on one of the back windows."

"No," Arthur said. The other two stopped and looked at him.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, confused.

"We know where he is," Arthur said. "You've found him and shown that he's safe and in decent health. We pass on the information to the FBI, to his mother – I think our job is done, then."

Merlin's face held disbelief. "Halbyon forced Shane into some kind of involuntary employment because he might be able to do magic, and you think our job is done?" he said.

"Shane's an adult," Arthur said. "He's free to make his own decisions, for his own reasons. We've ruled out foul play –"

Merlin unfolded himself from the bed. "Ruled out –" he said, stepping closer to Arthur.

"Look," Arthur said. "We tell his mother where he is, we tell the FBI he might be there under a blackmailing threat – and that's as far as we go. We don't break into the company office, risking getting hurt, getting caught, for someone who might not _want_ to leave."

Merlin stared at Arthur and didn't say anything. His expression, once so open and easy to read, was now impassive. Arthur knew what his friend felt, what he wanted, but he thought he could also see that Merlin would eventually realize he was right.

Gwaine said, "What if we work on figuring out the blackmail threat and neutralizing it? If they have information on Shane's abilities, or his background in drugs – I mean, hell, they might be threatening his mother for all we know…"

"_You_ don't have to go," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur said, "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I get it," Merlin said. "No, believe me, I do. You have your father's company, a wife, baby on the way. You've a lot more at risk, a lot more to lose. But Leon, and Gwaine, and I –"

"You're right," Arthur said, a little more harshly than he'd intended. "But that doesn't mean that those things are a cloud on my judgment. Being a husband and a father, being responsible for the livelihoods of near four hundred people, Merlin, makes me cautious, not a coward."

"No, I didn't mean that," Merlin said earnestly. "I just meant, if you didn't want to get involved, couldn't the three of us –"

"No," Arthur said, more calmly. "Please, Merlin, trust me. This is not a good idea. Like Gwaine said, not without a lot more information than what we've got."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was me in there," Merlin said in a low voice, his eyes a particularly intense blue.

"It's not the same thing, and you know it," Arthur told him. "Merlin, they obviously didn't have him strapped to a table to drain his blood or –"

"That we know of!" Merlin snapped. "Fine, if you want more information…" He turned back to the bed to resume his cross-legged hunch over his screen, and promised grimly, "I will get you more information."

Arthur sighed and glanced at Gwaine, who put his hands out as if to say, Don't involve me. Then Arthur's laptop chimed an incoming message alert, and Gwaine moved to let him take the desk chair again.

"Think I'll go get us some sandwiches for lunch," the former knight declared, stretching, then let himself out of the room.  
Arthur clicked out of the blueprints and security video still showing on his screen, and opened the message from Elyan.

**Still in Maine. Spent a day going through wreckage, found nothing of interest. ME's office released most bodies to relatives, etc. Most reports normal for COD. **

**Still investigating one passenger (see attached autopsy). Routine background check found no info older than 2 yrs, Percival looking into poss. falsified ID etc. is emailing second report asap.**

Arthur opened the link to the autopsy report, where relevant sections had been highlighted. Bruising around wrists and ankles inconsistent with injuries sustained in plane crash – the kind of marks left when someone had been tied up. Also, in the toxicology section, there were trace amounts of rohypnol in the blood, the sort of thing, Arthur remembered vaguely, more commonly seen in date-rape cases, as it caused the victim to become highly suggestible.

Suspicious, sure. But how in the world could that be relevant to a plane going down?

The laptop pinged another alert, this one from Percival. _Very prompt_, Arthur silently congratulated the biggest knight.

**Elyan said get this to you asap. Found suspect name changed 2 yrs ago.** Arthur skimmed the information and froze. Two facts fairly leaped from the well-organized jumble. **Reported missing in 2008 at age 16, presumed runaway, connected w/ family again 5/11.** Then, **8/11, employed Microsoft via Halbyon Inc.**

"Merlin," Arthur said. His friend didn't respond, but continued to work furiously. Arthur swiveled the chair around, scooted it so close to the bed that his knees were touching it and reached, slowly and gently, to grasp the top of the computer and pull it out of Merlin's hands.

Merlin let it go, but it was a moment before he met Arthur's gaze. Then he said, "What is it?"

"I –" Arthur shook his head, lifting his laptop from his desk and turning to position it in front of Merlin. "Read this."

He sat and watched Merlin's eyes flick over the reports, watched the same stunned disbelief reflected in his friend's features. "Reported missing for three years, presumed a runaway. Via Halbyon. Ligature marks, and rohypnol. No weather conditions, no mechanical or electrical failure, no collisions, no explosions…" A look of absolute horror drained the color from Merlin's face.

"Is it possible," Arthur said, "for someone to _magically_ crash an airplane?"

**A/N: This is a bit later than usual getting out, because I reworked a number of passages (hopefully it doesn't show) and ran into a genuine plot knot that I had to tease loose logically, and that changed certain things for this chapter and next… actually added a chapter, so no complaining… **

**To scrubbedceiling – thanks for your review, you raised a number of interesting points. I kind of wish you'd logged in so I could PM you a response… I hadn't noticed the differences in my characterizations of Gwen and Freya vs. the other women, but here's the thing – I'm trying to stay in characterization for Gwen and Freya (from the series) and when I write the OC's, then I can be more creative, use more 'real life'-type women, and I suppose that comes out as not as attractive or single or, in Eddie's case, separated. I promise you, Freya's character will have development… **

**As far as sanity goes, I've explored the question a little bit when Merlin doesn't remember who he is, in parts 1 and 2. I was influenced by the scene from Supernatural ep.4.20 when Castiel's human Jimmy returns home to tell his family he's been possessed by an angel for a year – they don't believe it (how can they, without seeing proof?) and beg him to get back on medication, etc. I'm pretty satisfied with the explanations I've written into the story as far as how the issue affects their relationship (though not really their **_**feelings**_**, if you see the difference) – there will be more development in subsequent chapters, hopefully the way this story line develops is more to your liking…**


	7. Confronted

**Chapter 7: Confronted**

"_Is it possible," Arthur said, "for someone to magically crash an airplane?"_

Merlin said dazedly, "If you know enough about the way a craft works, you could do it with any vehicle."

Arthur sat back in the desk chair, remembering. Merlin calling, _Yellow light_, and grabbing Arthur's arm as if that would somehow cause him to stop the car. Arthur's foot on the accelerator, and the Mustang jerking to a stop just before the moving truck blasted through the intersection. And what might have happened had someone with Merlin's abilities but a different motivation been in the passenger seat. He had a sinking feeling that, in that situation, someone could slam their brakes as hard as they could, and still end up driving into the path of a truck.

"But why?" Merlin said. "I mean, if you cause the plane you're in to crash – you die, too."

"Assuming that's what happened," Arthur pointed out. Merlin nodded, not responding as he re-read the information from Elyan and Percival.

Arthur closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the desk chair, thinking back to the whole affair leading up to the marathon bombing. _I was able to trace in Longley's sample the addition of the Emrys strain_, Gaius had said, it was ultimately what had killed the man. The naval instructor had been injected with the derivative designed to transfer magical abilities to the recipient, and had reacted so intensely that he had walked out his front door and kept walking until he died of exposure.

The suspect on the Maine flight, Julie Wild, had been missing from age 16 to age 19, had presumably worked a normal job at Microsoft for several years. Arthur wondered what had happened in the days and weeks before the flight, to leave bruises around wrists and ankles, the rohypnol in the blood. A completely unrelated attack, perhaps, somehow affecting mental balance?

Muffled thudding came from the door, and Merlin glanced up, his eyes flashing gold, to admit Gwaine, carrying bags of deli sandwiches, chips and cookies and half-litres of soda.

"Lunchtime," the former knight announced with a grin, though his eyes flicked between them as if to gauge the current temperature of feeling. "What is it?"

Merlin explained the news from their team members in the northeast, and Gwaine absorbed it as he handed around the sandwiches.

"First off, I think we should get Gaius to check a sample of Julie Wild's blood," Arthur said slowly. "I'll contact Chance with the update. We're still here all day tomorrow, for sure…"

"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, "if it's true, that Julie Wild had magic, too – it's more important that ever that we get Shane away from Halbyon."

"A great deal depends on Julie Wild's state of mind and motivation," Arthur reminded him. "Remember Adam Longley? His reaction was unexpected by Xander and Dr. Steffan. Even if Julie Wild was employed by Halbyon, we're a very long way from proving they were involved in the crash."

"State of mind," Merlin said slowly, his expression blank but his face pale. "And motivation. You mean, if Julie was suicidal? Very literally crashing and burning, along with twenty-seven other passengers? Or maybe she just suffered a psychotic break during the flight? Or even falling asleep and having a nightmare?"

"I don't know," Arthur said softly, almost gently. "We just don't know enough to guess that. The alternative is accusing a well-respected and widespread corporation of committing multiple crimes."

Merlin's eyes focused on him. "And what if they are?" he demanded.

Arthur thought of the file, the information Halbyon held on Merlin. "Then we take the time to build the case properly and legally," he said. "We do this very carefully. We can't afford to be impetuous, this time."

"And Shane?" Merlin said, with the slightest hint of a challenge.

"You find a way that we can talk to him without breaking into the building," Arthur said, "and we'll do it."

"A fire?" Merlin suggested, diabolically innocent. "A bomb threat? Gets everybody out of the building, and in the confusion –"

"Something _reasonable_, Merlin," Arthur growled. "Gwaine –" He turned to the knight, then shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"Wha?" Gwaine said around a mouthful, half a cookie in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

"When you're done, get on the phone with Elyan," Arthur said. "Have a sample of Julie Wild's blood sent to Gaius ASAP – Ray or Jason can drive it down, if necessary. Then do some digging on the Norfolk case, see if you can't come up with a passenger with links to either Halbyon or a missing-persons case. Merlin, can you do some cyber-sleuthing on Julie Wild, fill in the timeline a little?"

"And keep an eye on Shane," Merlin agreed, tossing the napkin he'd wiped his hands on at Gwaine. "Are you sure about the fire idea? I think, if I can get close enough, I can set off the alarms in the building without actually starting a fire…" Arthur gave him a mock-glare and he answered with a mischievous grin.

Gwaine gathered the trash from their lunch into one bag and left the room with it, phone in hand, already keying for Elyan's number.

Arthur turned back to his own computer. He wrote a response first to Rick Hennessy, agreeing to the meeting, suggesting that Rick arrange a time with Mary, his inherited PA.

Then he composed an email to Agent Gibson Chance, updating him on the investigation in Maine, explaining their suspicions about Julie Wild, as well as the actions they were taking to further the case. He mentioned that they were looking into the passenger list from the Norfolk flight, and suggested that Chance might want to put people on it as well, it was rather a large task for anyone not Merlin, and Merlin was dividing his attention between Julie Wild and Shane Littlefield.

_You may_, Arthur typed, _want to have a conversation with Wendy Doran about the nature and extent of Julie Wild's association with Halbyon_. There. That would probably tip Chance off to his suspicions without committing Arthur to specific accusations. He rather wished he could witness such an interview, and wondered briefly about the nature and extent of "Gib's" association with Wendy.

Gwaine knocked and stuck his head in the door, dressed in Nike warm-up pants and a white t-shirt. "Elyan's sending the sample to Gaius – figure on getting that news tomorrow. My computer's running the search program on the Norfolk passengers in our room. I'm going to the hotel gym for an hour or two."

Arthur acknowledged, and turned his attention with an effort towards more prosaic Camelot business.

Some few hours later, he pushed back with a groan. "A jog around the block doesn't sound half-bad," he grumbled, "even in this soup." Outside the window, it was another gray, misty day.

There was no response, and he turned to see Merlin curled up diagonally across his bed, one hand still lying across the keyboard in front of him, the images on the screen flickering lights and shadows across his face.

Merlin had already been awake and showered, breakfast in hand, when Leon had departed for the branch office that morning, Arthur remembered. He wondered if maybe the young sorcerer had been having nightmares again. But then, they hadn't had a case hit so very close to home since the marathon, and the drone attack. He watched his friend sleep for a minute, ribs rising and falling with the gentle pattern of his breathing, and it reminded him, oddly, of Merlin waking him up that morning, sprawled alone in the big bed.

He picked up his phone and sent a text. **Love u, Miss u. How u n jr doing 2day?**

Gwen responded almost immediately. **U 2. Baby fine. Am tired, n my back sore again. Wish u were here 2 rub it.**

Arthur grinned and sent back, **U mean, wish M was here 2 rub it?**

She texted back an emoticon of a smiley face with its tongue sticking out. Then she wrote, **What f its a grl?**

Arthur felt his grin widen, and he didn't hesitate over the keys, knowing the "right" answer, as well as the true one. **Dsnt matter, long as ur both hlthy.**

Another emoticon, this one with tiny red hearts for eyes. And, **Have 2 go back 2 work, late shft. Love u, miss u.**

Merlin murmured, "Say hi to Gwen for me."

"How do you know who it is?" Arthur said. "It could be my father –"

Merlin snorted, stretching and yawning, though his eyes were still shut. "Not with that sappy look on your face."

Arthur opened his mouth to shoot some insult back at his sorcerer, and reconsidered, remembering the shambles Merlin's own love life was in.

The lock on the door clicked as it disengaged, and Leon pushed through the door, pausing only momentarily when he saw them. "Have you guys been in here all day?" he said.

Arthur sighed, giving the former knight a wry look. "Pretty much," he said. "But we've made progress. You?"

Leon gave him a confident smile. "My hands were off the wheel all afternoon," he reported. "They know we're still here tomorrow, of course, and they can call us if there's trouble, but otherwise –" he shrugged and began to strip off his tie – "that's that. Where's Gwaine?"

"He went to the hotel gym, but he might be back to the other room by now," Arthur said. "Merlin? You all right for a while?"

"Yeah, if I can use the chair and desk."

Arthur moved his laptop out of Merlin's way, as Leon continued to change from business-casual to casual dress. "I'll go with Leon to pick up some dinner," he said, "and fill him in."

Merlin made a noncommittal noise, and Arthur paused at the door to look back, briefly, before following Leon to the hallway. That one yearning look when Merlin learned there were others with similar abilities, his sly suggestion of the fire alarm… Arthur could order him, and hope he obeyed. Otherwise, he knew perfectly well that Merlin was capable of making his own decision to action and carrying it out the minute he was alone. Normally Arthur wasn't concerned about controlling Merlin, recognizing the rare authority over the sorcerer that he held, by Merlin's own choice. But this – deep down, he was genuinely worried about losing Merlin again, the way they'd lost him, two and a half years ago.

It was a relief to meet Gwaine at the elevators, damp and sweaty, towel draped around his neck. "We're getting dinner," Arthur said. "Keep an eye on him, will you, Gwaine? At least don't let him go tearing off somewhere without you?"

"We could just let him bring his laptop to dinner with us," Gwaine suggested, walking down the hall backward, as Leon held the elevator door open. "Table for five?"

"Not in public, Gwaine," Arthur said. "Not the way _he_ works."

Gwaine nodded, understanding, and tossed off a two-finger salute. He fished his keycard from the pocket of his exercise pants, and Arthur stepped back to let the elevator door close.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

They picked up grilled salmon and crab cakes from Ray's Boathouse, and hurried back to the hotel.

"You know, I can't imagine not living on a coast," Gwaine said, when he could manage to speak between bites. "How do they manage in the Midwest or the mountains, not having fresh seafood?"

"Lake trout?" Merlin suggested. His eyes and one hand had been busy with the computer while they ate, but he'd managed to keep up with the conversation and the meal, both.

"Lake trout," Gwaine scoffed. "Have you ever been deep-sea fishing, mate? Now that's –"

Merlin stiffened, then scrambled up from the bed, laptop in his hands. He knelt beside Arthur in the desk chair, popping Arthur's computer open and typing furiously for a handful of seconds before repositioning both systems for his simultaneous use. His hip bumped Arthur's knee as he shifted to Arthur's computer momentarily.

"Help yourself," Arthur said in a tone of heavy irony, pushing the wheeled chair back to allow Merlin better access. "You want to use the chair, too?"

Merlin didn't answer, didn't give any sign he'd heard. Leon had stopped eating, his eyebrows raised. Gwaine shrugged and took the opportunity to steal the remainder of Merlin's crab cake from his abandoned Styrofoam box.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, more seriously, snapping the lid of his own take-out box shut and setting it aside.

"They're moving him," Merlin murmured, switching his attention to his laptop, then glancing back at Arthur's, moving one hand to the second keyboard. Arthur wondered if his friend's hands and wrists ever got sore after working so furiously fast for so long. Carpal tunnel syndrome? probably not for a powerful sorcerer.

"Shane?" Leon asked, closing his own box on the remnants of his meal.

"Yeah. Not in one of those vans, but a POV…" His voice trailed away and his hands hovered for an instant as he glanced from one screen to the other and back again. "I'll look up the license plate later, right now I'm just following… he's with one other guy…"

"Restrained at all?" Arthur asked. "Under any kind of threat of force?"

"Not that I can tell." Merlin frowned. "See, here's the perfect opportunity, at a stoplight, for him to escape – the driver's looking to the left –"

They all fell silent, the only sound Merlin's insanely swift work. Even watching only one screen, Arthur couldn't follow what his friend was doing, his magically-enhanced hacker skills getting into security and traffic cameras – even a satellite at one point, he was sure – fast enough to follow a vehicle in real time.

No one said anything, or hardly moved, for a good ten minutes. Merlin's whole body was taut with tension each moment, and when he finally sank back onto the floor, the hair at his temples was damp with sweat.

"The Elliot Hotel," he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse. "Kind of a dump. Rents rooms by the hour as well as the night. No cameras on the property or directed toward it, but that's where they turned in."

"Now what?" Gwaine said, straightening. "Shall we go? You promised, Arthur, if he found a way to get close to the kid without going on Halbyon property…"

Merlin pushed himself up and retrieved his phone from his back pocket. He bent over his laptop for a moment. "If that car pulls out before we get there, I'll get the alert." He waved the phone in explanation, and looked at Arthur eagerly. "So. We're going, right?"

Arthur sighed. "For the love of Camelot," he said, making it an oath. "Fine. Let's go."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Drive past," Arthur ordered from the shotgun position. "Now – here. Right here." Behind him, Merlin was whistling softly between his teeth, as he had been since they'd gotten into the car, Sloop John B. _Call for the captain ashore/ let me go home… let me go home… I wanna go home… Well, I feel so broke up… I wanna go home_…

Past the parking lot for the Elliot Hotel was a narrow alley of the sort used by sanitation vehicles. Leon pulled into the narrow lane and as the rental car rolled slowly, Arthur and Merlin behind him craned to look out at the building. Two stories only, the back of the building was sheer, the alley only partially obstructed by two dumpsters.

At the end of the alley, Leon glanced at Arthur for confirmation, and Arthur said, "Yeah, circle around."

They rounded the block and this time entered the parking lot. There was only about half a dozen vehicles, easy for Merlin to point out the one he'd followed from Halbyon. Leon pulled into a space ambiguously in the center of the lot, and all four looked at the poorly-lit face of the hotel. The hotel was built in two wings at right angles, and it was the sort of place where patrons were not placed next door to each other. Green-painted doors and heavily-curtained windows faced the parking lot, the walkways littered with trash cans and sand buckets for smokers' convenience.

Only one room had lights showing behind the curtain in front of the suspect vehicle. #8. _Green door… what's that secret you're keeping?_ The radio whispered a jazzy 50's song, _Wish they'd let me in so I can find out what's behind the green door!_

Arthur twisted in his seat. Merlin leaned far forward, eyes and smile gleaming with happy anticipation. He met Arthur's gaze and his expression didn't change. "Sorry," he said.

"Leon, stay with the car, and don't draw any attention," Arthur said. "The car is still here, which means Shane's not alone." He paused, thinking. The other man was still a Halbyon employee – and Halbyon was after a merger with Arthur Drake's Camelot, and Arthur's Merlin. He would have to be cautious to make sure neither of them were recognized. "Gwaine, you'll knock, get them to open the door," he went on. "Once the door is unlocked, Merlin, hit the other guy with a sleeping spell – hopefully he won't remember anything else, that way."

"Got it," Merlin said.

"Let's go." Arthur's door was open first, but the other two were close behind. Once again they all wore dark nondescript clothes, though Merlin had turned his sweatshirt inside out, so the Seahawks emblem wouldn't show.

They moved to #8, Gwaine in front of the door, Arthur to the left, flattened on the wall between door and window, Merlin lurking to the right, where he had a line of sight past Gwaine to whoever opened the door, but wouldn't be immediately visible to them.

"Gwaine, get ready to catch him when the spell hits," Arthur hissed, and Gwaine nodded, lifting his hand to knock. Arthur heard movement inside the room, and Gwaine gave the peephole a big grin and a goofy wave. The deadbolt slid back, and the chain left across the door rattled as it opened a few suspicious inches.

"Hey, man!" Gwaine said indistinctly, giving a sloppy grin and swaying slightly on his feet. Arthur, who had seen him genuinely drunk, couldn't tell the difference, and found himself impressed. "This yer car out here, the white one? Sorry to hafta tell ya this, but I may have rear-ended you – just a little." He held up thumb and forefinger apologetically.

"What?" the unseen man at the door growled.

"Don' worry - it's just the one taillight," Gwaine pretended to attempt reassurance, swaying again. "An' maybe a scratch…"

The stranger swore, and the chain rattled again as he removed it, swinging the door open, and in almost the same movement collapsing to the floor of the hotel room as Merlin's spell hit.

"Gwaine," Arthur growled.

"What?" Gwaine said unrepentantly. "You just said, get _ready_ to catch him…"

Merlin slipped into the room past the former knight. "Shane?"

"Come on, let's get him out of the way," Arthur told Gwaine.

"_Marvin_?" A second, younger-sounding male voice, inside the room. As Arthur and Gwaine yanked on the fallen man's arms to drag him onto the bed nearest the door, he caught an impression of a short, stocky kid with red hair, pale under his freckles. "What are _you_ doing here? What did you do to Meadows?"

"He'll be fine, he'll wake up in a few hours," Merlin said. "Your mom asked me to help find you."

Shane flopped down on the second, inner bed in a sitting position. "My mom?" he said dazedly.

"Yeah, she's been worried about you," Merlin answered. "Do you know how long you've been gone? She's had the police looking for you, the FBI –"

"Marvin?" Shane said again, his forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What are you doing _here_?"

"I'm friends with the FBI agent handling your case, Shane, he asked me to come–"

"But you moved to D.C.," Shane objected uncertainly.

"We can talk more in the car," Merlin said. "Let's go, do you have anything you need to -"

"Who are they?" Shane asked, as Arthur kicked the door shut and Gwaine manhandled the sleeping stranger into a decent position on the bed.

Arthur sensed Merlin's impatience, but the young sorcerer patiently perched on the foot of Shane's bed. The situation was, maybe, a little more delicate than they'd expected – weeks in captivity could result in an unbalanced mental state. "These are my friends, Shane," Merlin said. "This is Arthur and –"

"What are you doing here?" Shane said, for the third time. "You're not supposed to be here?"

Arthur glanced at Gwaine, who took a position at the side of the window to watch the parking lot, moving the curtain slightly. Gwaine shrugged.

"Shane," Merlin said quietly, "Look at me." Arthur watched the two young men stare into each other's faces. They looked so different, and yet were so alike, at the same time. "Do you remember Portland?" Merlin continued. "You were living with your father, going to school to become a mechanic."

A pause. Arthur was forcibly reminded of Merlin, the morning he'd come home after being held in the Baltimore clinic, looking in Arthur's closet for the shower, asking what he should call Gaius.

"You came back to Seattle in February," Merlin went on, "for an interview."

Shane's face broke out into a smile. "And interview with Halbyon," he said, visibly relaxing. "I work for Halbyon, now."

"No, you don't," Merlin said gently. "You don't have to, anymore. We can take you to your mother, we can leave here right now –"

"No," Shane said clearly, frowning. "I'm not leaving. Why did you come here? Are you sure Meadows is going to be all right?"

"Didn't you tell Halbyon _no_?" Merlin said. "Didn't they force you –"

"I changed my mind," Shane said, looking from Gwaine to Arthur to Merlin. "I was nervous because I was afraid of my powers, but they showed me how to control myself, how to use my –"

"What about your mother?" Merin said, his voice no longer low and gentle, but still calm. "What about your car? There was blood on the floor when you left with –"

Shane's hand rose to his face, his fingers just touching his nose, but he said, "What about my car?" in genuine confusion.

"It was found near the marina, stripped and burned out," Merlin said.

"That's – that's too bad," Shane said, with no real regret in his voice.

"And your mother?" Merlin said. "She hasn't heard from you in six weeks. You walked out and left all your clothes and things –"

"I've been busy," Shane said defensively. "Training. Learning. I can _do_ things now."

Merlin, Arthur saw, had lost a little color. Arthur glanced back at Gwaine again, saw his own thought on the former knight's face, that they'd misread the case, maybe. Or, that it was too late? Shane was about the age Merlin had been when he went missing, but Shane had not come wandering home at the end of the week. What, Arthur thought, could they have done if they'd found Merlin like this, apparently healthy and relatively lucid, on his own in a hotel room, with no desire to return?

"Do you mean that you _chose_ Halbyon?" Merlin said incredulously. "They used no force, no threats?"

"I have my reasons," Shane insisted. "I left my mother a note. She wasn't supposed to look for me."

Merlin simply stared at him. "She's your mother," the young sorcerer said finally. "Both your parents love you and worry about you – why won't you go home?"

Shane grimaced. "You're worried because my mom's worried," he said. "I get it – you always were her favorite. Fine – if that's what it takes to get you guys to leave me alone –" He leaned over and grabbed the phone, dragging it off the nightstand between the two beds and onto his lap. He lifted the receiver and held it on his shoulder as he dialed. "Because I'm not a kid anymore, Marvin, I can take care of myself."

Merlin lifted his eyes to Arthur's, blank and expressionless, whatever he was feeling buried so deep inside Arthur couldn't even catch a glimpse. Confusion and uncertainty, at the very least, Arthur thought.

"Hello, Mom?" Shane said. "This is Shane. Yeah, your special son. I just want to say, I'm sorry I didn't call earlier, but I'm fine. Marvin found me, he's here with some friends, they did something to Meadows. They want me to leave with them –" he paused, then answered whatever had been said, "No, I don't want to go home. I want to work for Halbyon – that's my family, now."

Merlin stood from the bed and turned to stalk toward the back of the room, where another heavy curtain covered a back window with a view, presumably, of the alley.

"Okay," Shane said eventually. "I understand. I promise to visit soon. I love you? Goodbye." He clattered the receiver back into place and looked up at Arthur belligerently. "Satisfied? You wanna get out of here now so I can get some sleep? Or you wanna do to me what you did to Meadows?"

"You've been at Halbyon's office for six weeks," Arthur said, making it a question, it was less likely to make Shane react defensively, that way. "You've slept there and eaten there and showered there… that's – not really normal, Shane."

The boy's teeth bared in an unfriendly grin. "Who are you to tell me what's normal?" he said. "_I'm_ not normal."

"Maybe not," Merlin said quietly, coming to Arthur's side, where Shane could see them both at once. "But that doesn't mean you have to be anyone's slave, either. Why don't you come with me?" His voice was softly pleading. "We'll see your mother, we'll take a break from Halbyon, we'll talk and I'll help you work out whatever –"

"I've made my decision," Shane said.

"Maybe your mother could come here, would that be okay?" Merlin persisted. "Let me call her, tell her where we are –"

"No!" Shane said. "I don't need your help – leave me alone!" Stubborn, and yet with the slightest hint of desperation. Merlin could be very persuasive when he had a mind to be, Arthur knew, and maybe it scared Shane to be prompted to second-guess himself.

Arthur opened his mouth to suggest that they check Shane's arms for needle-marks, the back of his head, just behind his ears, for any evidence that Shane's memory or sensory input had been manipulated.

"Arthur," Gwaine said warningly, stepping to the door to flip the deadbolt and reattach the chain. "We've got company. Six guys in a white van. We can't get out the front without being seen, anymore."

"Then we'll have to go out the back," Arthur said. "Merlin?"

"Please come, Shane," Merlin said, with only the barest hint of a tremor in his voice. The doorknob rattled, and a fist pounded on it, followed by a muffled demand to open it.

"No," Shane shook his head decisively. "I'm sorry, Marvin. This is where I belong. Leave me alone."

Merlin looked at the young man he used to know, then his eyes gleamed golden for a single moment, and Shane tumbled back onto the pillows of the bed. As Merlin bent to lift Shane's legs gently onto the bed, Arthur rounded the foot of it to check out the back window. The alley was deserted, but the window – like theirs in the Ballard Hotel – was not meant to open.

"We've got one guy going to the manager's office," Gwaine reported from his post. "Getting an extra key, is my guess."

"Merlin?" Arthur said, stepping up onto the bed. He sensed his friend come up behind him, and the glass of the window was gone, letting in damp cold air and the sounds of a big city at night – traffic and sirens.

He boosted himself up, rolling through the window headfirst and dropping a shoulder to land in a crouch in the alley. Merlin scrambled through more awkwardly, with Gwaine right behind him. The knight reached down to pull the curtain back across the window, and then the glass was in place once again. Arthur led the other two quickly down the alley, pulling his phone from his pocket, keying for the speed-dial.

"Arthur," Leon said. "Where are you?"

"North end of the alley," Arthur said. "Soon as you can do it without being suspicious –"

"Done and done," Leon responded, a smile in his voice. "I drove out just about as soon as they pulled in. Give me a minute to make the turn–" Lights flashed to their right, and the phone chimed End-Call in his ear as their rental car slowed. Arthur hurried around to the front passenger seat, while Gwaine followed Merlin into the back.

"No luck?" Leon asked.

"He was there," Arthur said neutrally. "He refused to come with us."

"How'd they know we were there?" Gwaine said.

Merlin suddenly punched the back of the seat – Arthur's seat – and Arthur turned to see his friend cross his arms tightly over his chest and turn to the window. His scowl was black, but Arthur was certain he'd also caught the gleam of unshed tears in his friend's blue eyes.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"What are we going to do about him?" Gwaine asked, the next morning, the moment Arthur and Leon's door shut behind him. Arthur had offered to switch rooms for the night, if Merlin preferred, but Merlin hadn't even answered. "I mean, I gathered he was supposed to find some closure while he was here, lay to rest some demons of his past, not wake up some more."

It was complicated. Arthur knew Merlin was probably hoping he – they – could do for Shane what they'd done for him, after he was abducted. He probably felt guilty, too – didn't Merlin always feel guilty, though it wasn't his fault and there was nothing anyone could do to fix the problem?

"Are you two okay on your own today?" Arthur said.

Leon nodded, Gwaine shrugged. "No connections yet on the Norfolk flight. I guess we could keep working."

Arthur shoved his phone and wallet and the hotel keycard into his pockets, picked up the keys for the rental car. "We'll see you when we see you," he said.

Stepping out to the hallway, he'd raised his hand to knock on the door numbered 459, when he noticed someone at the window at the end of the hall, a lanky young man with an untidy mop of black hair sitting sideways to the window, one foot up on the sill and one on the floor. Arthur walked towards him; Merlin's hands were limp in his lap, his head leaned against the rain-speckled window. This side of the hotel showed the view toward the Space Needle, the dim outline of white-shouldered Mount Rainier in the gray-misted distance.

Merlin didn't move as Arthur came very close beside him, didn't take his eyes from the view. Neither of them said anything and the minutes rolled calmly by.

"Gaius called," Merlin said, his voice betraying no emotion, yet still low and quiet. "Julie Wild's blood tested positive for the magic gene."

"But without the connection to –"

"No," Merlin said.

Arthur moved to the side, by his friend's foot, leaned against the window, protecting his forehead from the cold glass with his forearm. "Would it do any good to stay a few more days?" he asked.

Merlin shifted. "Shane's back at Halbyon," he said. "I told Casey everything over the phone, but I – should probably talk to Eddie, myself. So – no, I guess not."

There would be plenty to do once they were back in D.C. Not including their regular responsibilities at Camelot, they still needed to get a lot more information on Julie Wild, and the Norfolk plane passengers. There was Rick Hennessy to let into the loop on Halbyon, before dealing with the merger. There was Wendy Doran, and the Artorius Blade. Merlin would want to know whether or not it was the sword that used to be Arthur's – and he was curious, himself.

But for today – "Okay," Arthur said. "Let's go."

Merlin looked at him then, the blue of his eyes light with fatigue, the faint trace of darker circles around them. He said nothing, but followed Arthur as he always did, down the hall to the elevator, out of the hotel to the car.

They went to see Eddie first. Arthur understood what Gwaine meant when he'd said, it was almost too much for him. The building was large and cold and impersonal on the outside, desperate and shabby on the inside. It stank of helpless misery, hopeless defeat. Some, Arthur saw, were trying their damndest to make the best of bad circumstances, but some – caseworkers, children, families alike – had simply given up.

Which made that indomitable optimism of Merlin's soul shine with a light that much clearer, sweeter. _Diamond in the rough_, Arthur thought, _ye gods_, had never been a more appropriately-applied phrase.

"I'm sorry, Eddie," Merlin said to the small, slender, bespectacled woman, as she reached up to embrace him.

"I talked to Agent Lindell this morning," Eddie said in answer. "He's alive, and we know where he is – and that's a lot more than we had. No – thank you, Marvin. Please don't feel like you should have done more." She turned to Arthur, and he thought, here was another with a spark of indomitable optimism. She seemed less bothered than Merlin over the news of her son's decisions.

"This is Arthur Drake," Merlin said, and Arthur offered his hand to his friend's caseworker.

"Ah," Eddie said. "So you are his partner."

Arthur couldn't help smiling. "Yes," he said simply.

She looked from Arthur to Merlin and back again. "You, at least, are happily married," she said.

Arthur nodded self-consciously, and a tiny smile showed on Merlin's lips as he added proudly, "Their first is due in four weeks."

"Three and a half," Arthur corrected automatically, and Eddie smiled.

"You need a wife," she told Merlin, reaching to squeeze his arm. "Some lovely young lady who can understand you and love you and –"

"Eddie," Merlin warned, and if there was a hint in his easy, open grin of the reality of his unsettled relationship with Freya, it was only a very tiny one.

"Okay," she relented. "Take care of each other – and send a Christmas card or a letter once in a while, Marvin!"

Merlin dipped his head in acknowledgement and waved as they left the office.

Arthur turned on the windshield wipers, and the heater on low, once they were back in the car. "Now," he said. "Show me something nice, something good, something worthwhile about this city."

"Go that way," Merlin said, pointing. "I'll show you my only reason for ever coming back to Seattle."

Arthur followed the directions his friend gave, frankly curious about the young sorcerer's favorite place in the city he grew up in, a city that held so many barely-glimpsed but dark and painful memories.

When he turned the car into the drive for Hillcrest Cemetary, he was surprised. But only for a moment, and he asked no questions as Merlin gave him two more directions – _turn here. Stop here_.

Arthur turned off the ignition and they sat listening to the rain on the roof of the car. Then Merlin turned a small smile on him. "Give me a minute." He slid from the car, pushing up the hood of his sweatshirt, his lanky, distinctive stride taking him over the manicured lawn to a set of modest headstones, where he stopped and stood still, his head bowed.

"Ah, geez," Arthur said aloud. "We should have brought –"

Merlin took his hands out of the pouch pocket; they were full of bright spring flowers, and he leaned down to place three bouquets. It looked odd to Arthur, as if he was pushing the stems into the dirt, and he wondered if somehow Merlin's conjured flowers would take root. He wouldn't be at all surprised.

He waited, and while he did, he thought of his family. A mother he hadn't known either time, a distant and demanding father twice, no siblings.

He thought of Hunith, sweet and gentle and generous and brave – everything his former servant was, also. He vaguely remembered Balinor, somehow harsh and heroic at once – and that was Merlin, too, at times. This lifetime, Merlin's father had been a soldier, killed in combat. That said courage, and sacrifice. His mother and older brother, murdered when Merlin was six or seven – and yet the intruder had not harmed Merlin. Courage. And sacrifice.

He realized that Merlin was no longer standing, but crouching, and he opened the car door swiftly, pulling up the hood of his own jacket as he hurried to his friend's side.

Merlin raised his face to meet Arthur's eyes as he neared, and if he was crying it was impossible to tell in the rain.

Arthur stood beside him, looking at the washed gray stone. William and Helen Caroban. William Jr. What would he say to them, if he could? _Your son is amazing. Unique. My best friend. _My_ brother. He is a man to make a family button-busting proud. And he's only just begun._

"What did you say to them?" Arthur said then.

Merlin glanced up at him, smiling, then looked back at the headstones. "I told them I'm sorry."

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His friend said that more times than anyone else he knew, and for far less reason. There was absolutely no blame on Merlin for any of these deaths, but somehow Merlin's power made him feel responsible for everything that went wrong, especially when someone was hurt.

"I didn't want to leave Shane," Merlin said. "I still don't."

"We don't have a choice," Arthur said. "You have to let people make their own decisions, even if there's consequences. We've done what we could."

"It's still frustrating," Merlin said. "It feels like I should have been able to convince them." Them. Arthur wondered who else Merlin had tried to convince, and failed. "I mean, all _this_," Merlin said, opening his hands. Rain splashed on his palms. "What is it for, if I can't –"

"I know," Arthur said. "I know how power brings responsibility. I know how it feels to accept the blame for something that wasn't your fault, simply because you're the one with some form of control. I know what it means to feel guilty even when everyone tells you, there was nothing you could have done, simply because there was nothing anyone else could have done, but you had more chance than any to make things right. I know how it feels to worry that your mistakes are going to be greater than anyone else's, to worry about the innocent people that might suffer if you make a wrong choice, or even if you make a right one. _I know_, Merlin."

It was a moment, then the young sorcerer pushed himself to his feet, tucking his hands back into his pockets. "Yeah," he said softly, "I guess you do." Rain pattered down on their shoulders, their hoods. The petals of the flowers Merlin had planted fluttered under the weight of the drops. "I told them," Merlin added, half-turning to Arthur, "I have friends. A good life. I told them that I was okay."

Arthur filled his lungs with the scent of cut grass and damp earth, then let it out slowly. As Merlin turned to walk back to the car, Arthur slung one arm over his shoulders.

**A/N: As requested, I've posted a listing of the song lyrics/movies I've referenced in these three stories on my profile page… obviously only through the previous chapter for Artorius Blade… **


	8. Cleared For Departure

**Chapter 8: Cleared For Departure**

It was a Dodge Ram pick-up, steel gray, and Merlin perched on the side of the bed-wall, facing outward, his heels propped on the back tire. He was close enough to feel the heat of the bonfire in the black night, but not close enough to be included in the general crowd, or anyone's little circle of friends. No one's date, no one's lover. He was present, he remembered, because he'd fixed someone's computer and a party invite was easier and cheaper than forking over cash.

The keys were in the ignition of the pick-up, the windows rolled down so the music could blast out. _It's a crime… it's a shame… and they won't remember your name…_

He looked down at his hands. Black leather wristband, studded with silver, black polish on his nails. Aluminum can of cheap bear, cigarette trailing smoke. _And your life goes on – and on – and on…_

"Where are we?" Arthur said. Merlin glanced to the side, somehow not surprised to see his friend seated next to him on the narrow bed-wall.

"The Andersons' acres," Merlin said. Sparks snapped and hissed and flew upward. "That's what's left of the shed."

"What?" Arthur exclaimed. _It's a laugh… it's a game… Don't let it drive you insane…_

"Don't worry," Merlin told him. "They moved months ago."

They sat and watched the other teenagers drink and laugh and flirt. Occasionally couples would disappear into the darkness beyond the edge of the firelight.

"What are they doing?" Arthur asked him.

Merlin gave him an incredulous look. "I know it hasn't been that long since you were a teenager," he said. "C'mon, Arthur. Sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll."

_It's like the twilight zone!_ the song yelped. _Yeah, you gotta run, run, run away!_

Merlin put out his hand, whispered whimsically, and the image of a dragon formed in the sparks.

Some didn't notice. Some giggled and watched like it was part of the trip. One screamed. One vomited. One wandered in circles, alone, talking to himself.

"Did you ever?" Arthur said, gesturing.

Merlin wasn't sure if Arthur was asking about sex, drugs, or calling visions of mythical creatures out of bonfire flames. "No," he said finally. "I never trusted any one of them, not enough for that. This is me. Watching from the shadows."

"Merlin?" Arthur said.

_When it hurts so bad! You gotta run, run, run away!_ He straightened, pulled back his arm, and threw the can of beer into the bonfire, which flared up, then went out. For a single instant, then Merlin's eyes blinked open at the soaring glass-and-metal ceiling, the bustle of luggage-laden travelers, the near-yet-muffled shriek of jet engines. And somewhere out that window, past the smog of the city, lay the long jagged row of the Rockies. So he'd been told.

"Merlin," Arthur said again, slouched next to him in the black leather seats of the waiting area. "They're going to start boarding in a few minutes."

"Hellfire," Merlin moaned, struggling to full awareness. "Yes, sire. I come to answer thy best pleasure – be it to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire…" *

"Are you even awake?" Arthur said, amused. "Relax, Merlin, only flying is required of you today."

"Your own fault for taking that stuff," Gwaine said from the seat across from him.

"Dramamine is worth its weight in gold," Merlin told him, crawling up from the depths of his seat. Still slightly disoriented, he almost tripped over his own stuffed backpack at his feet. Leon, who'd stood to stretch joints and muscles cramped by the flight from Seattle to Denver, put out a hand to steady him.

They gathered their belongings, slinging straps over their shoulders, making sure photo IDs were ready to hand. Leon folded a page to mark his place in his detective novel; Gwaine slurped the last of the soda from his fountain drink and rattled the ice around the straw in the bottom of the cup, looking around for a trash can.

Merlin lifted his backpack to his shoulders and rubbed his eyes, still feeling strangely disoriented, like maybe, if he rubbed hard enough, he'd see two pale sandy wagon-tracks before his feet, tall green grass waving in the middle and to either side. And he'd come over a hill, and there would be Camelot, gleaming in the warm sun, pennants flapping on the towers –

"Now boarding sections one and two, flight 456 to Dulles International Airport." The voice on the loudspeaker was decipherable if distorted.

He checked his watch – five after eleven. He wondered if they were going to get lunch served to them on the six-hour flight, or not. He wondered if he should down another Dramamine and try to sleep, whether that would be considered an overdose, whether he wanted to dream again…

He followed Leon and Arthur through the line, handed the half-size folder with his ticket and Virginia driver's license to the attendant, who gave him a chipper smile as she returned the ID and the stub of the ticket. "Enjoy your flight," she said, already looking behind him to Gwaine.

"We could've gone first class," the dark-haired knight mourned as he thumped down the enclosed jetway behind Merlin.

"Good afternoon, welcome aboard," the blonde flight attendant told them, smiling with freshly-applied lipstick as they ducked through the plane's curved door. Merlin had to hunch his head down to avoid bumping it on the low ceiling, and gave her a self-conscious smile.

Behind her, the door of the cockpit was open, revealing pilot and copilot in headsets, suit jackets draped over the back of their seats. They checked knobs and switches to the right, to the left, overhead, even on the console between them, chatting casually.

It still felt, oddly, like a dream to Merlin. Part of him wanted to take that extra Dramamine, zone out until they got to D.C., then go straight to bed when he got back to the townhouse. Part of him struggled against the faint friendly fog, warning him he needed his wits. Gwaine nudged him forward and he made his way down the narrow aisle, his ears feeling slightly oppressed by the adjusted pressure inside the cabin.

He noticed the passengers already taking their places – there a dark-skinned mother and daughter, the resemblance as obvious as the age gap. The daughter was sulking, arms crossed and head down, while the mother leaned over to speak quietly and earnestly. There an older man with a bulging gut and a biker's beard stuffed a pink diaper bag into an overhead bin as a young mother, twice as big as Gwen eight months pregnant, tightened the straps holding a car seat on the plane seat next to her, smiling gratefully at the stranger. There two young men with military haircuts settled a third, with an empty sleeve, into the middle seat between them.

An arm across his chest stopped his progress, and he looked down at it blankly. Arthur said, "This is us, Merlin."

Leon was already buckling himself into the aisle seat opposite. Arthur backed up to the window, and Gwaine nudged him again from behind. "The middle? Really?" he complained, shrugging out of his backpack. He jammed it into the overhead bin and collapsed into the middle seat, as Gwaine reorganized the luggage in the bin, and Arthur snapped his seatbelt.

"You okay?" he said to Merlin. "You seem a little more out of it today than when we usually travel."

"I'm fine." He suddenly had an urge to point and shout, Bandits, sire! His magic felt uneasy within him, as if he needed to be ready to deflect crossbow bolts or drop broken branches. It was not unlike nausea, actually. "You know I don't like flying."

It was quite stupid, really. He'd loved every second of the times he'd flown with Kilgarrah – barring that last flight – the cool freedom and the rush of air and the feeling of weightlessness, of the bond he shared with a powerful, magical being overcoming all other considerations so long as he was disconnected with the earth. He hadn't thought it would be much different on a plane, but it was. He felt cramped and stifled, hurtling blindly through the air a thousand feet higher than the dragons ever dreamed of, with no control over any part of the flight.

Arthur gave him a glance both amused and sympathetic, and raised the plastic flap to look out the small oval window. Merlin tightened his seatbelt as the stream of cool air cascaded over him from the control panel above. Leon opened his novel, and Gwaine flirted with the blonde flight attendant.

A barrel-chested middle-aged man in a pink polo shirt said, "Excuse me!" more loudly than necessary to Gwaine, who only grinned. The former knight had let his hair grow a little longer, hadn't bothered to shave the entire time they were in Seattle, and the graphic on his long-sleeve t-shirt showed barbed wire ripping into bloody skin. Merlin smirked, wondering what the pink polo man would say if he knew Gwaine was a former cop, on the payroll of the NSA.

"Ah, good afternoon, this is your, ah… pilot speaking." The plane shuddered slightly, the last few passengers taking their seats as the attendants slammed the bins shut, one after another. The craft began to move, and that was something else Merlin didn't enjoy, the sensation of sitting completely still while the world slid past outside the window. "We're… ah, third in line for the runway this afternoon, but… ah, the tower assures me there are no delays at the present, and we should… ah, reach Dulles at the scheduled time. Ah, seven o'clock eastern, that is."

As the plane rolled into position, Merlin unfolded the safety booklet and tried to follow along with the presentation the flight attendants smiled and mimed through, keeping their balance in the aisle like performers.

"Let's get some refreshments going," Gwaine mumbled, shifting impatiently in the aisle seat.

Merlin hissed at him to be quiet, sure that he'd missed vital information on how to open the emergency door in case of a water landing. He flipped one section of the manual over, trying to catch up to the swiftly-mumbled safety spiel, realized he'd gone too far, and flipped back.

Yet another thing he hated about flying. The average passenger, he was sure, however nervous he might be about flying, experienced little more than a passing qualm about responsibility in the event of a crash. Merlin felt like he was the pilot, with two hundred and fifty souls in his hands, here in seat 25B, without the benefit of controls, radio, front window, or any kind of training whatsoever.

"Flight attendants, please take your seats. We are – ah, cleared for departure."

The plane remained stationary on the runway as the engines built pressure, and Merlin's pulse accelerated – it was an unpleasant feeling, with the drugs still in his system trying to slow and calm him. Then, with a jolt, they were moving, picking up speed, fasterfasterfast – til the nose lifted and the craft leaped up with the roar of rushing air, and the ground dropped away below them.

They banked, tipping almost completely sideways. Arthur sat back and Merlin found himself looking down at the Denver airport through the tiny window – the enormous peaked-marquee design of the main airport like a cream pie, the concourses like smaller dessert plates grouped around it.

The thought made him feel hungry, then immediately nauseated. The air pressed in on his ears, and then they popped.

"Oh, kill me now," Merlin moaned.

"It's a six-hour flight," Arthur reminded him. "Calm down, Merlin."

He tried, he really did. He closed his eyes and sat perfectly still, regulating his breathing, periodically relieving the pressure in his ears. As soon as it was allowed, he dug out his ipod and put the earbuds in his ears, trying to lose himself in a world of music.

It didn't really work. If it wasn't _I'm leaving on a jet plane… Don't know when I'll be back again_… it was _Daniel is traveling tonight on a plane… I can see the red taillights… heading for Spain_… And then again, _Go on, hitch a ride on the back of a butterfly… there's no better way to fly… _

Merlin powered the device off, but left the ear-buds in place, blocking out most of the ambient noise in the aircraft. He started counting the breaths he took, in and out, slower and slower.

Arthur was seated in front of him, which was puzzling. There was way too much empty space, suddenly, in the cabin, and Merlin was standing several paces behind his king, and Leon in the high-backed chair to Arthur's left. Both were dressed in chainmail and red cloaks, a long banquet table spread before them. Merlin was meant to be serving – he looked down at his hands, surprised and dismayed to find the cheap aluminum beer can, as well as the lit cigarette. Confusedly he moved the cigarette to his lips, holding it in the corner of his mouth and blinking against the smoke, as he stepped to the table to fill Arthur's goblet, using both hands to pour from the aluminum can as was proper.

"I would love to see your fool perform," a woman's voice said from Arthur's other side. Merlin and his king looked simultaneously at a woman two decades younger than Queen Annis, wearing an eager expression and a casual business suit, no royal circlet on her long brown hair.

"He has no skills," Arthur said evenly. "He's only technical support."

"I can _do_ things," Merlin said loudly, childishly eager to show off, to be understood and accepted and respected. He held up his hands, now holding an egg in one and a small superhero in the other, wondering if he should have removed the black nail polish. "I'm the entertainment."

In the dim light beside the stone-block wall, a trio of musicians struck up a tune he recognized, and his mind supplied the lyrics. _You can see the summit… but you can't reach it/ It's the last piece of the puzzle… but you just can't make it fit…_

"Perform!" the woman demanded. "We want to see what you can do!"

As Merlin backed away in preparation, a spotlight slammed on, focusing not on him, but on Arthur, who rose from the banquet table, drawing his sword – a unique blade, silver metal at the edges, rune-inscribed gold at the core. Arthur's hand obscured the gold wire wrapped around the dark leather hilt, the full-sun insignia of the pommel just visible beyond the king's fist.

Behind the woman's seat stepped a man with white hair, and he held a sword identical to the one in Arthur's grip. Dragon-breathed. They began to spar, their movements slow and deliberate.

The minstrels spun the tune from _No one – no one – no one ever… is to blame… _to_ Don't cry young lovers, whatever you do_…

The twin blades flashed faster, bright and clean, yet the side of Arthur's chainmail was slick with blood, his blonde hair streaked with sweat, his face pale. _Don't cry because I'm alone…_

Merlin was motionless, frozen. Helpless.

"It's about time," someone whispered close to his ear. He recognized Gwaine's voice. _But you've been captured_, he thought. _Abducted. Held in a basement at Ismere for training, so you can learn to control –_

"Pretzels or peanuts?" Gwaine continued.

What the hell? He struggled into motion as if from the bottom of a great sea, slowly through the dragging water, up from the – lake?

To the plane. Arthur peering through the tiny oval window at the clouds wisping past. Gwaine craning his neck to see how far the flight attendant was with her refreshment cart.

Merlin groaned and rubbed his eyes. He'd ask for water, he thought, and dash it right in his face, ice and all.

He dug out his laptop and tried to work, to sift through video surveillance of Philadelphia, where the Maine flight had originated. But his magic wouldn't settle. It continued upset, flaring out of him when he tried to suppress it, to just use the computer like a regular person, flashing footage out of his reach before he was finishing viewing it, presenting him other bits and pieces that seemed to be completely unrelated. Piece of the puzzle – but you just can't make it fit –

Arthur gave him a warning nudge – he could probably see from the screen that Merlin's work wasn't the ordinary kind, and Merlin closed the laptop, surprised to see that the flight attendant had worked more than half the length of the plane already, and was only three rows up from them. Leon turned a page in his novel. Gwaine's head was tipped against the back of his seat, eyes closed and mouth dropped open, taking in a soft snoring breath.

_Marvin_.

He almost bruised a hip, trying to leap up with his seatbelt still fastened. Arthur gave him a strange look, and the flight attendant, now two rows ahead, caught his eyes and gave him a professional smile.

He'd once heard, _Merlin_ – and it had been the great dragon. He'd once heard _Emrys_ – and it had been Mordred.

_Marvin. You can hear me, can't you?_

Who in the hell would – _Shane?_ He flipped the latch of the seatbelt, and bashed his head on the bottom of the overhead bin trying to stand.

_This is all your fault, you know. You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?_

_Shane? It is you, isn't it? Are you on this plane?_ Why, and – how? _Where are you?_ Merlin hunched his shoulders, peering down the rows of the backs of heads, seeing no one with Shane's length or shade of hair, no faces turned, seeking him. He twisted to scan the handful of rows behind him.

"Merlin?" Arthur said from behind him in the window seat. "What's wrong?"

_I was given a message for you,_ Shane's voice said in his mind. _They said, tell him, if you're not him, no great loss. Camelot is ours. If you are him, then this should not be goodbye – but now you know we're serious._

_What? What does that mean? Who gave you the message? Shane?_ There was no reply, no sense that he was heard. Shane had cut him off.

"What are you doing?" Arthur said. Merlin turned forward again, visually going row by row, searching. There were a handful of apparently empty seats, and still no one he could guess to be his friend.

_Shane!_ he tried again. No reply. He eased down to the edge of his seat. The flight attendant moved her cart to the row just in front of them; Leon glanced over, then shut his book.

"Shane's on the plane," Merlin said shortly.

"Are you sure?" Arthur said, craning to try to see for himself.

"I'm sure."

Gwaine mumbled an obscenity. "They got to him, didn't they?" His arms were still crossed, his eyes still shut. "Whatever they threatened him or promised him – he joined them. And whatever else they said, or did –

"No!" Merlin said. Helldamnfire. Too late. _Shane. Please talk to me_.

_ What is there to say? I told you the truth last night. I changed my mind. They trained me at Halbyon, showed me things –_

_Your loyalty is to them?_ Merlin asked silently_. What about Eddie? You shouldn't have to leave your family wondering if you're alive or dead, just to take a new job._

_My loyalty is always to my mother!_ Shane's voice screamed in his mind, and Merlin winced at the ferocity of the telepathic outburst. _It's her fault, and yours, that I'm here now!_

_I don't understand,_ Merlin sent back, trying to project a sense of calm also.

_I tried to be good, to behave, to obey and learn – and the very first night they trusted me to be on my own, you showed up!_

In a distant way Merlin was aware that his companions were focused on him, declining the offer of refreshments so the attendant could pass on with her cart. In another few moments his way up the aisle would be clear.

"Merlin?" Arthur said.

Merlin held up one hand to signal Arthur to wait. _You understand why we came? Your mom didn't know what happened to you –_

_She wasn't supposed to look for me!_ Again Merlin flinched at the vehemence in Shane's voice. _She never could understand – I'm special! I'm different! I told them I wanted to belong to the family of Halbyon, to the team, do my part – but after you came, they didn't believe me!_

_Shane_, Merlin said, his sense of dread deepening, _you didn't call your mother, did you? You called Halbyon…_

_Of course I did! That was what I was supposed to do! I've never been anything but obedient! But when they heard – Marvin Caroban and his friend Arthur –_

Merlin had the sense that he was falling, even though he was firmly in his seat. He pushed himself up unsteadily, stumbled over Gwaine into the aisle, heard Arthur's voice behind him, speaking to the two knights, explaining.

_You told them_, he said to Shane.

_I shouldn't have_. The younger boy sounded petulant. _Now look._

_They let you go? _Merlin guessed.

_Ha! Not exactly._

_Then what?_ Merlin pushed forward down the aisle, looking into each face, ignoring the glares and grimaces and self-conscious blushes. He stumbled sideways as the plane hit turbulence again.

_Leave me alone! Leave me alone!_ Shane sounded scared, now. The plane shuddered, dropped, and the two hundred and fifty overhead lights blinked on – fasten seatbelts. One of the other attendants, a young man, started down the aisle toward him, looking determined. Merlin stepped forward, intent on identifying where Shane was, hands on the backs of each aisle seat for stability. _You have to let me do this – they said, my mom!_

_Do what, Shane?_ Merlin said. _Do what?_

The male attendant reached him. "I'm sorry, sir, we're experiencing quite a lot of turbulence – please take your seat until the pilot turns off the fasten-seatbelt sign."

Arthur was in the aisle behind him, unobtrusively showing the NSA consulting ID. "We need to locate one of the passengers –" The young man's eyes widened and his mouth tightened. "No, nothing to be worried about, we simply received a tip that a potential witness might be aboard and we wanted to have a word with him."

"It really would be safer if you could wait until you're free to move about the cabin," the young man told them.

The plane jolted so roughly they all three staggered. Merlin bent his knees automatically to aid his balance. The attendant stumbled into a sleeping passenger, to the startled embarrassment of both.

_Leave me alone!_ Shane demanded with an edge of hysteria to his thought-voice. _I swear, I'll bring it down early! There's nothing you can do if one of the wing-flaps breaks loose!_

Merlin crouched in the aisle, considering. Shane was right. There were three or four flaps on each wing, and he couldn't hold them all in place indefinitely. Impossible also, to reattach a broken piece, even if he could catch it, at the speed they were going.

_I'll leave you alone,_ he decided, _if you'll keep talking to me._

_Don't try to talk me out of this. You don't know what they'll do if I fail. My mother–_

Merlin tried to smile at the attendant. "It's okay – we're going," he told him, and turned, pushing Arthur back to their seats with shaky hands.

"What happened?" Arthur hissed. "What's going on?" Gwaine stood up and stepped back to allow them to take their seats again.

"Shane's on the plane," he repeated to both of them, facing forward. His lips felt stiff. How long did they have? What could he do? "I think he's got orders to take it down."

Incongruously, Meg Ryan's voice echoed in his head – We're going down we're going down we're going down!

"I can't put everyone to sleep at once," he said suddenly, desperately, turning to Arthur. "I can't stop him breaking pieces off the plane. He won't listen to me I think they've threatened Eddie –"

"Merlin," Arthur said, pushing Merlin's nearest shoulder into the seat back so he would turn and meet Arthur's gaze. There was determination and confidence in his king's blue eyes that steadied him.

He took a breath. "Shane said he had a message for me - if you're not him, no great loss. Camelot is ours. If you are him, then this should not be goodbye – but now you know we're serious," he said. "Gwaine was right. Shane called Halbyon last night, not his mother. He's angry with us, says Halbyon doesn't trust him anymore – they didn't let him go, but he's here. And he said, I'll take it down early." Arthur's face was suddenly blurry, and Merlin had to blink his eyes clear. "Arthur?" he said.

"He told Halbyon, Marvin Caroban and his friend Arthur," Arthur said, sinking back into his seat. "Hell, Merlin. I'm sorry. Hyden all over again – I think they're trying to make you prove who you are. If we die, they'll push through the merger with Camelot – and if we don't…"

"What do you mean?" Merlin said. "You said they already wanted me for my magic, they already knew –"

Gwaine leaned forward. "We have to find him," he said.

"He knows what you look like," Arthur said. "We can't provoke him, we have to stall as much as possible, try to talk him out of it –"

_Shane_, Merlin said, desperately. _You don't have to do this. I'll call Casey, my friend in the FBI, we'll protect your mother –_

_I don't have a choice._ The younger boy sounded obstinate.

Arthur's phone was in his hand. "Are you talking to him right now?" he said. "Tell him I'm calling Agent Lindell, I'll have him pick up Ms. Littlefield and make sure she's safe."

_Shane_, Merlin tried gently. _I do some work with the NSA. We're investigating another plane crash, in Maine, we think was caused by – someone like you. Someone that worked for Halbyon. If you cause this airplane to crash, the NSA will make the connection – and your mother will find out that it was you. I know you're willing to protect her – I respect that, I'd do the same – but are you really willing to kill two hundred and fifty other people?_

"What about Leon?" Gwaine said to Arthur, around Merlin. "Shane won't recognize him –"

Arthur held up one finger, concentrated on his phone call. "Yes, thanks, Agent Lindell. Until we get in touch with you, I think. Okay." He ended the call, then said to Gwaine, "He'll be suspicious of anyone up while the seatbelt light is on. And Leon may not recognize him, either."

_You'll have to stop me, then_, Shane said, quietly. _I have to do my best to bring the plane down, and you have to stop me._

_Where?_ Merlin said. _How long?_

_Quantico. They want it to look like a terrorist thing, if it succeeds._

If you're not him, no great loss. If you are him, then this is not goodbye. "Oh, hell," Merlin whispered helplessly. "Damn it all to – Arthur, they know, don't they? They have your sword and they know who you are – and me – and all these people are in danger because –"

"Breathe, please," Arthur said. "You can't talk him out of it?"

Merlin shook his head, little spikes of fear shivering through him. "How long til Quantico?" he whispered.

Gwaine reached up and hit the call button. Arthur said, "What can we do for you, Merlin?"

He didn't answer, not trusting himself to speak. He closed his eyes and focused on relaxation, on resting each muscle totally, on calming and emptying his mind. Control of self, of thoughts and feelings, funneling each one into motivation for his task.

Far away, he heard Arthur's voice, and Gwaine's – how far to Quantico? Where is Shane Littlefield seated?

He hid his magic, he always had. It was necessary, that secret, to the continued protection of his Arthur. He downplayed, he shrugged off. Sleight of hand. Telekinesis. I think you may want to check your equipment again. He kept his temper, choosing to relieve his emotions in humor instead. Most of the time. Until they threatened Arthur, his king. I can't lose him; he's my friend.

They knew, in this lifetime, the Round Table of his friends. They knew, they accepted, they appreciated. They valued him. I know, Arthur had said. I'm glad. No one is like Merlin.

We'll be over Quantico in fifteen minutes. Starting our descent into Dulles. We have no passengers registered under the name Shane Littlefield.

The plane shuddered, jolted. The baby in the car seat, eight or ten rows ahead, began to cry. Beside him, Arthur's knee brushed his, his hand rested lightly on Merlin's wrist, wordlessly letting Merlin know he was there. If minutes passed, he was not aware of it. He drew on his magic, filling his lungs, his veins. His heart and soul, preparing to counter whatever attack Shane might chose to make.

From the cockpit he'd have a clearer view of their proximity to the ground, their speed. They needed a field, some abandoned stretch of forest – the pilots knew that. They'd guide and direct the descent better than he could, probably, though he didn't imagine a passenger jet had much gliding capability. From the ground he'd have the best view of all – he'd stand on the grass of Camelot's front lawn and catch –

He wouldn't leave Arthur's side.

The aircraft plunged abruptly. Merlin's stomach fluttered up toward his throat. The engines coughed deeply, then fell silent, behind and below, to each side. Shane was a mechanic – of course he would attack the engines. And now they were simply a hundred-ton meteor hurtling through the air, inexorably pulled to earth.

Catching, stopping time, would do no good, if it was even possible. Once he released his hold, the plane would continue – same momentum, just delayed impact.

Merlin slowed the plane. He pulled back with all his strength, pulled them all, passengers luggage seats, jamming his shoulders into the seat back, his feet wedged against the bottom of the seat in front of him.

And he called forth the wind, the air itself to his command. Though he couldn't feel it inside the cabin he could _feel_ it, rushing upwards, buffeting the aircraft like a slanted-wind tunnel. He was vaguely aware of his body slammed in the seat, as the plane slipped sideways out of the contrary airstream, and adjusted his demands on the natural order accordingly.

Yellow oxygen cups popped down, dangling and bouncing wildly on their strings. As he squinted through the cabin, he saw some fastening the oxygen masks to their faces, some disappearing below their seatbacks as they tucked themselves small over their knees – was that proper? he didn't remember. Merlin closed his eyes again, all his will all his energy all his life to lift the tons of steel and fragile humanity, the strength of the gale howling pushing –

Someone fumbled at his face, trying to fit an oxygen mask – he shook his head violently. He needed all his concentration. Merlin raised his hands to the sides, palms up and empty, full of responsibility –

He opened his mouth and let his voice escape the pressure in his chest, joining the terrified noise made by other passengers – yelling screaming roaring his challenge and defiance and determination to win, damn it all – get the nose up – we're going down we're going down we're going down –

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the end it was very much like a highway collision. The impact, the shock. Merlin blacked out, or the lights blacked out. The rumbling pressure, the grinding of the belly of the craft against the ground, drowned out the noise from the people. He found he had a hold of the men beside him, a wrist in each hand.

The seatback before him rebounded violently and he barely had time to blink before pain exploded over his right temple. He blacked out again.

**A/N: This chapter got away from me a little, so I split it into two. Thus the cliffie, but on the plus side, the next chapter is half written already… **

***Ariel to Prospero, **_**The Tempest**_**. ;)**


	9. Recovered

**Chapter 9: Recovered**

He focused first on breathing. It seemed to him that if he didn't intentionally will each breath, it might not happen.

His chest heaved with the effort, and his head pounded. Lights flashed, but he was pretty sure it was only against the backs of his eyelids. He heard noises, voices that were pained, frightened – but not raised in agony or inconsolable loss. That took the edge from his sense of urgency. A little.

Something pressed into his shoulder blade, something warm that moved with the rhythm of panting breaths. It was Arthur, to his left, Arthur alive and moving. Yes, as it should be.

He smelled jet fuel, and vomit. He reached out with an instinctive elemental power to extinguish any and all flames, to smother the plane's electronics so there was no chance of a spark. That magic scraped across raw nerves and senses, and he might have cried out before his consciousness withdrew again like a wounded creature to the depths of a cave.

"Leon's not responding. Can you work your hand free? We need Merlin."

"Gwaine." Merlin knew that voice, thick with pain as it was. Even though it did not speak his name, that voice called him forth, back from darkness to the twilight. "Give me a minute. Don't touch him, he –"

His sense of equilibrium was skewed to the left and down. It wouldn't matter until he tried to move… which he should probably do sooner rather than later. Find Arthur. He tried to say the name, but only managed a meaningless mumble.

"Merlin? You hit your head. I know it hurts, but – I need your help."

There were other voices.

"Is anyone seriously hurt? Who needs help? If everyone can please make their way to one of the exits, we can begin to provide first aid. No, leave your belongings, please. If you are able, help those around you who might have injuries."

Injuries. Moaning. I need your help.

He struggled to drag his eyelids up, and the first thing he saw were yellow oxygen cups hanging motionless from the overhead consoles – but not straight down. The light was dim, gray somehow – or was that just his eyes? Gwaine's face swam into view, drawn and grim, and then relieved.

"Merlin?" he said, and a ghost of a smile quirked his lips. "Can you hear me now?"

A spike of pain shot through his neck as he turned his head, downward and to his left. "Arthur," he said.

Arthur's eyes were open, the haziness of shock clearing to an alert determination. But there was still pain there, and it flared up as some movement of Gwaine's caused the seats the two of them were still strapped in to shift.

"Where are you hurt?" Merlin said to Arthur. Something dripped in his eye and he shrugged it off on the shoulder of his sweatshirt.

It took Arthur a moment to answer. "My hand," he said, the word turning into a moan that he bit off.

The light, Merlin realized, was brighter toward the right – toward the west – and he moved to shift his shadow away from Arthur. The hand nearest Merlin was clutching the armrest they shared between their seats, but the other – he saw that Arthur's left hand was trapped between the arm of the chair and the side of the plane. A dark smear of blood marred the smooth surface below the window.

Merlin reached carefully, gently, over and down, to wrap his fingers around the arm of the seat. Then he snapped it off with one swift jerk, Arthur letting out a choked cry and recoiling with the pain. He took Arthur's hand by the wrist, feeling his friend tremble violently. The gold of Arthur's wedding band glinted in the mess of wet red and gleam of white bone. Blood dripped down Merlin's fingers.

"Please move in an orderly fashion…"

Other voices sounded, near and far, questioning, directing, suggesting – Gwaine responded, and Merlin paid no attention to the words.

He whispered, feeling tears sting at the corners of his eyes, feeling the rough rasp of breath through his torn throat, the grating of magic forced through the channels of his being already abraded by the power he'd called upon. It was meant to slide smoothly, naturally, like a stream from his soul – not explode with such raw intensity. Arthur's whole body shuddered, but Merlin wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop until the bones of Arthur's crushed hand were realigned and whole.

"Damn," Arthur whispered. "Oh, damn."

There was strength and stubbornness in Arthur's face, even as it swam out of focus in Merlin's eyes. He reached to unlatch his seatbelt, and as Merlin turned toward Gwaine and Leon, he blacked out for a single instant – not long enough to collapse against his wounded king, but long enough for him to notice.

"Merlin!" Arthur said, rather more sharply than he normally did, and Merlin fumbled at his own seatbelt, anxious to obey, to serve. Only – he was so dizzy. Vaguely he registered that the passengers from the rows behind them and the rows just ahead had all gone.

Gwaine, balanced against the tilt of the plane – it wasn't just Merlin, then – hovered over Leon, checking his pulse, supporting his weight as gravity pulled the older knight down toward the aisle. As Merlin clambered out of Arthur's way, he saw that the seat ahead of Leon lay tilted, bent backwards, pushing his left leg down.

"Gwaine?" Arthur said from behind Merlin.

"He's alive, his pulse is strong," Gwaine reported.

A dark stain spread on the tan material of Leon's trousers, below the seat pinning him down. Merlin stumbled and Gwaine caught him by the elbow as his hands reached Leon, squeezing out reluctant magic, healing with a rough efficiency of first aid care rather than a surgeon in a sterile operating room, finally sinking into a panting crouch on the slanted aisle.

Gwaine reached for Leon's seatbelt, paused and looked down at Merlin. "Can you help me carry him?" he asked. Merlin nodded, though it caused his vision to bob alarmingly for several moments after. Gwaine unlatched Leon's seatbelt, caught the older knight as he began to slide out and down.

Merlin simply adjusted Leon's arm around his neck to stand – and promptly went down again on one hand and knee in the aisle.

"You okay, Merlin?" Arthur said hoarsely.

Merlin concentrated on the rubber ripples of the aisle tread under his fingers – blood on his fingers. "Just – dizzy," he mumbled, pushing himself up.

"Let's go." Arthur's voice sounded stronger, more collected. "There's no one left behind us."

Merlin stumbled first, dragging Leon behind, his vision's version of _up_ fighting his body's perception of gravity. Gwaine came just behind Leon, supporting him under his other arm, with Arthur more steady in the rear, cradling his bloody hand in the wrapped hem of his shirt.

There was no one left in front of him, either, though he could make out some movement in the far dim front of the plane, as other passengers scrambled or stumbled to and through the front exits.

There were no bodies left behind in any of the seats.

By the time he emerged to the fresh air from the hatch exit over the wing, he was gasping with exertion, drinking in the pungency of oak rather than the salt tang of Seattle. Below him dark figures moved over the ground; there was some moaning, some low conversation. The baby was crying somewhere in the dim twilight. But there was no screaming.

The wingtip, he observed lightheadedly, was slanted downward, buried in the earth at the end of a long dark scar, a furrow plowed for hundreds of yards.

Merlin slipped and sat down hard on the wing. Gwaine yelped, and Leon mumbled something, stirring. Merlin maneuvered himself back under Leon's arm, to help both knights in a controlled slide down the wing to the ground.

"Where the hell are we?" Gwaine panted as they stumbled over the rough ground. Bowed under Leon's weight, Merlin saw little but the detritus of last year's leaves, occasionally the face of a passenger seated on the ground – the dark-skinned mother comforting her daughter, seated next to the soldier with the empty sleeve. A passenger with black hair and Shane's face turned to make his way in the opposite direction.

_Shane?_ he tried, and tripped as pain slammed the inside of his skull in every direction at once. Okay – never mind that.

"Just south of Quantico," someone said, and Merlin adjusted Leon's arm to focus unsteadily on the older man with the biker's beard, pausing briefly to answer, as he passed them with the pink diaper bag over his shoulder. There was an empty few yards of ground, and Merlin copied Gwaine's movements to place Leon gently down.

"Arthur?" Merlin turned to his king, and the movement unbalanced him enough that he sat down right where he was, rather than risk staggering wildly over some injured passenger.

Arthur squatted down next to him. "Take it easy, Merlin," he said.

Beyond Arthur's shoulder he could see figures moving among the majority of seated passengers – two flight attendants, by their uniforms, and the other two young men with military haircuts. He caught a few words – "Anyone badly hurt? We have a first aid kit, a few blankets…"

Gwaine plopped down on Leon's other side and began to remove his shoes. Merlin watched him, disconcerted, still aware that Arthur used his shoulder to brace himself as he sat down on the ground also. Once both Gwaine's shoes were off, he pulled off his socks as well, and – sitting there barefoot in the waning twilight – used one to bind Leon's knee. Then he flopped the other at Merlin, and held out his left arm, scooting closer.

Merlin took the sock, staring at the knight.

"Right here," Gwaine said, pointing to the inside of his elbow. "Nice and tight – but don't cut off my circulation."

Merlin saw nothing but the t-shirt graphic of ripped fabric and blood, and glanced back at Gwaine's face, sure that he was being made fun of.

"Merlin," Arthur said gently, "Tie the sock around Gwaine's arm."

Merlin obeyed. They would laugh later, he guessed. The knight put his shoes back on, then pushed himself up. "I'm going to see if there's any way I can help," he said. "I guess anyone with a phone in their hand already called 911. Probably little to do except wait for the paramedics – but there might be some first aid necessary."

"I can help," Merlin mumbled, trying to push himself to his feet. The world swirled crazily in muddy browns and grays around him, except for the golden gleam of Arthur's hair which remained stationary on his right. And then the ground crashed into his shoulder and hip, and he grunted.

"Merlin, be still," Arthur's order cut through the throbbing in his head that was very nearly audible.

"I need to help," he insisted. "Need to make sure – no one dies. No one dies."

Gwaine said to Arthur, "Why don't I go check on things, and if there's anyone who needs – _special_ attention, I can come back for him?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, putting pressure on Merlin's shoulder to keep him from trying to get up.

He rolled on his side, his knees against Leon's body, Arthur sitting against his back, and closed his eyes. He fumbled til his hand felt the texture of Leon's shirt material, then sent a trickle of magic into the older man.

It was there. He wanted to use it. No matter that it felt like drinking hot coffee after burning your tongue on the soup. No matter that it felt like gripping the handlebars of your bike after wiping out and scraping all the skin from your palms. Like trying to hold raw egg or read when the lamp was turned out, or remember something that… constantly… slipped.

"No casualties at all, Arthur," Gwaine said. "Scrapes, bruises, broken bones, mostly. The emergency vehicles should start showing up soon."

It was darker, now. Either that, or his vision was seriously failing. But even that didn't matter. He scrunched himself around so that he could push away from the ground, and felt Arthur's hand trying to restrain him again. "Dammit, Arthur, I need to do this," he panted hoarsely. "Please let me."

Arthur wordlessly positioned himself at Merlin's elbow, Gwaine holding his other arm. "Come this way, then," the knight said.

Merlin couldn't see straight, couldn't think straight. He smelled blood and he heard pain, and he focused on that, his hands shaking as they hovered over injuries – gashes, breaks – Arthur and Gwaine explaining, excusing, sometimes turning aside to arrange for some minor comfort for someone else.

At some point, Merlin blacked out again.

He was aware, briefly, of Arthur's shoulders under one arm, felt him struggling and panting. _Sorry, Arthur_ – he tried to make his feet move, but they obeyed his commands so slowly it didn't help. Gwaine was still at his right, swearing under his breath. He saw Leon, up on his elbows, the sock tied around his knee reddened in the center, watching them come closer with a look of concern on his face, opening his mouth on a question.

The darkness was absolute. Voices swooped and faded. He head hurt so badly he retched, and then it hurt even more. A great weight on his chest made him struggle to breathe – he was buried alive? the magic crushed from his body, the vessel emptied. He was – a toothpaste tube, flatted and twisted like – like wreckage. An aircraft, somewhere in the glass and concrete was Arthur's broken body because Merlin hadn't been strong enough, and he couldn't move. He sobbed his king's name.

"I'm here, Merlin. I'm here."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …*…..

Consciousness came with painful brilliance. He blinked at the light, bright as noonday sun reflecting from a snow-buried world. An antiseptic smell crawled along the inside of his nostrils and dirt gritted between his teeth.

A beeping noise intruded in a steady pattern, joined by vague yet familiar noises he identified as shoes on tile, voices, and a phone.

Blood thundered through his head, muted only slightly by the fuzzy feeling of morphine. He blinked against the light and looked stupidly around the room. Hospital monitoring equipment, slim silver pole hung with a plastic bag half-full of clear liquid, dripping through a tube, needle taped in the inside of his elbow.

Just like before. No, just as it had been all night, nurses waking him periodically to check his vitals, not let him sleep too long after a concussion. Normal. Safe. His blood wasn't going anywhere… his heart didn't believe him, and the beeping increased with his pulse. He tried to move, and couldn't.

He was strapped down, bleeding and bleeding and so confused… No. Nonono! A louder alarm sounded discordantly, all sounds speeding up getting louder – he struggled, physically and magically up from the cloudy depths, and found himself lurching to a sitting position in the narrow hospital bed, snatching at the tape stuck to his skin.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, tiger." A whip-thin middle-aged woman breezed through the door, calling over her shoulder, "Somebody get the grandfather, please?" She casually checked the screen before moving Merlin's hand and smoothing down the tape. "Not so fast, huh? You're going to get me in trouble."

"Sorry," he whispered. Calm down, he told himself. Doctors and nurses. "Mary Washington Hospital, right? Fredericksburg?"

"Right you are," the nurse said cheerfully.

"Good morning," Gaius said from the doorway, and rounded the bed to the visitor's chair on Merlin's other side. "I'm sorry – I tried to be here whenever they woke you up."

"It's all right," Merlin said, quietly hoarse.

"Wasn't as bad, this time," the nurse said, checking the lead from Merlin's finger and the blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. "Give it another day, and you'll be quite comfortable in a hospital." She gave Merlin a rather toothy grin, and breezed back through the door.

Merlin leaned over toward Gaius. "Do not keep me here another day," he said desperately.

Gaius snorted. "Not even another hour," he said. "They said, if you stay awake this time, you can be released."

"Good," Merlin said, moving the white sheet so he could swing his legs free. "I'm changing, then."

"I put your clothes in the bathroom," Gaius reminded him.

He wheeled the IV pole along with him into the enclosure, leaving the door open a few inches. "What about the others?" he said. "Wait – did I already ask you this?"

Gaius chuckled. "Yes, you did, and more than once," he said. "But you were feeling rather unsettled in your surroundings, and dealing with the effects of a moderate concussion, as well as the pain medication. And that –" Merlin could fairly hear the old man raising his eyebrow – "after doing magic sufficient to land a passenger jet with no casualties."

No casualties. He raised his hand to touch the hardened scab over his right eye, and swayed even as he grinned exultantly. _Damn you, Halbyon. Damn you, and the horse you rode in on. _Now_ leave me the hell alone_.

"Neither Gwaine nor Arthur were admitted," Gaius continued. "The cut on the inside of Gwaine's elbow was long but shallow, they merely applied steri-strips before bandaging it."

After disinfecting it, Merlin hoped, laughing softly to himself, shimmying out of his filthy jeans. Gwaine's socks never were the cleanest. "And Arthur?" he asked. "How is his hand?"

"It required thirty-seven stitches in all," Gaius said. "He may lose some sensitivity in places, a little range of motion, but it should heal without needing surgery."  
"And the bones?" Merlin asked, pulling on his clean pair of jeans. He remembered the torn ruin of Arthur's hand and had to brace himself on the edge of the sink against a wave of nausea.

"The bones were fine, Merlin – why do you ask?"

Instead of answering, Merlin said, "What about Leon?" He carefully peeled off his blood-stained t-shirt, unhooking the bag of saline solution from the IV pole. "There was blood on his pant-leg, but – I don't think any of us ever examined the injury."

"Well, Leon has been admitted, they want to do surgery on his knee later today. The patella tendon was partially severed, and joints of course are always delicate matters." Merlin resolved to apologize the next time he saw Leon. He'd focused on healing Arthur's hand, and had given Leon's injury rougher treatment as a consequence. Then Gaius said, "Good morning, sire," and Merlin shoved the IV bag, tube needle and all, through the arm of his clean shirt, a casual long-sleeve t-shirt in navy blue.

"Good morning, Gaius," Arthur's voice said, carrying a hint of humor. "Where is he? I imagined he'd be lazing in bed, still."

"I heard that," Merlin called out, as Arthur no doubt intended, grinning to himself. He shoved his feet into his shoes and carried his sweatshirt, as well as his dirty clothing in the plastic belongings bag provided by the hospital, out to the room.

Arthur leaned against the doorjamb, filthy and pale, with dark circles of pain and exhaustion around his eyes, and a lopsided smile. His left hand was bandaged and he held it upright, his other hand supporting his elbow.

Merlin wheeled the IV pole across the room, for once giving in to a more sentimental side, but Arthur didn't even seem surprised when Merlin reached him and simply leaned his head down on his king's shoulder, wincing slightly at the twinge of pain in his forehead. Arthur curled the fingers of his good hand around the back of Merlin's neck.

"You're alive," Merlin mumbled.

Arthur laughed softly. "Gotta love that morphine still in your system, huh?" he said.

Merlin stepped back, dizzy again, and sat down on the edge of his bed. "Speaking of which, how's your hand?"

"Hurts like the devil." Arthur shrugged. "What do you remember?"

Gaius rose and came around to the front of the bed. "Bits and pieces," Merlin said. "What about Shane?"

"Before the engines cut out," Arthur said, "I talked to Agent Chance briefly – you might have heard?"

"I think I heard you talking to Casey," Merlin said, frowning, then immediately smoothing his brow. It hurt to frown.

"A couple of NSA agents arrived in the middle of all the paramedics and ambulances and so on," Arthur said. "I pointed Shane out to them – he'd dyed his hair black, that's why we couldn't see him on the plane. After he's taken care of medically, he'll probably be taken into custody… To be honest with you, Merlin, I'm not inclined to deal with that situation at all for a few days."

"What about Halbyon, then?" Merlin asked. "Surely they'll have seen the news or whatever by now – they'll _know_."

"Same thing. It's Friday morning – they can damn sure wait until Monday. I say we've earned the day off, the weekend –" Merlin snorted. "And you," Arthur continued in a light tone, "have earned a month of Sundays. A vacation in the Bahamas, even."

"How about just getting me the hell out of here?" Merlin suggested.

"It's your choice," Arthur said. "Gwen's on her way to pick me up now, and Gaius and Gwaine are going to wait for Leon to get out of surgery this afternoon."

"If it goes well," Gaius added, "they won't keep him overnight."

"I'll go with you and Gwen, then," Merlin said. "If that's okay."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin hadn't often ridden in the back seat of Gwen's blue Mazda, which was why his mind went back three years to the first time. Wet and cold and alone on the side of the road – that was nothing new for him. What was new was having someone care, someone pull their car over and wait, someone holler, _get your butt in the car you're soaked. _He sat in the passenger seat behind Arthur, just as he had done, that day.

In the driver's seat, the side of Gwen's pregnant belly curved forward toward the steering wheel. Arthur's left elbow was propped on the center storage compartment, holding his bandaged hand upright. His shoulders twisted as he reached for the bottle of water in the central cup holder, and Gwen didn't take her eyes from the road as she absently freed the bottle and handed it to her husband. Merlin concentrated momentarily, making sure the cap was loose enough that it wouldn't be hard to remove one-handed, flinching as a spike of reactive pain shot through his skull.

"Thanks," Arthur said.

That little bit of magic increased the throb of blood in his temples. He stretched his legs out behind the driver's seat and found a fairly comfortable bit of seatback to rest against, closing his eyes against the hour-long drive back up to Alexandria.

Arthur murmured a question to Gwen, and she began to answer, their voices too low for him to hear the words, though not, Merlin thought, because they were deliberately excluding him. It felt comfortable just to listen to their voices.

Music wafted faintly from the backseat speakers, calming and relaxing him further. _No more talk of darkness… forget these wide-eyed fears… I'm here, nothing can harm you… my words will warm and calm you…_

Arthur said, only slightly louder than before, "Is this him?"

_ Let me be your freedom… let daylight dry your tears… I'm here, with you beside you… to guard you and to guide you…_

"I don't know," Gwen responded. "I had the cd in already." _Let me be your shelter… let me be your light… _ "No, don't, Arthur – leave it, it's fine." _You're safe, no one will find you… your fears are far behind you…_

Merlin let his eyes drift open. Gwen smiled lovingly over at Arthur, who leaned awkwardly into the space between them, reaching for her right-handed. She bent sideways, still facing forward, lifting her hand to cup his cheek as he kissed hers, then turning her face to quickly meet his lips.

_All I want is freedom… a world with no more night_… He swallowed and closed his eyes once again. _And you, always beside me… to hold me and to hide me…_

Years, he remembered, of being alone while his two friends had each other – not that he begrudged them an instant, and it hadn't always been a walk in the park for them – he'd celebrated wholeheartedly their moments of love and happiness – days and weeks and years.

_ Say you need me with you here beside you… anywhere you go, let me go too… that's all I ask of you…_

He'd give himself a headache – if he didn't already have one – trying to figure destiny out, he knew that from experience. But still, there were so many questions unanswered, and most of them began with _why_?

_ Say you love me… you know I do..._

"Was it hard," he said aloud, and the music quieted to a background murmur. "For you all, before I remembered? Three years ago? Did you want to tell me, but had to choose not to, because I wouldn't believe you? Because I would think you were crazy?"

There was a pause. He didn't open his eyes. Then Arthur said, "At first. But it was only a couple of weeks before you – remembered."

"You were all there," Merlin said. "I could see it in your faces – everything that each of you said, the rest knew and remembered, believed." What they'd said had resonated with him. Like it had been a movie he'd watched as a kid, not knowing who the actors were, or really following the storyline – but seeing it again, years later, bringing everything into focus. Realization, and … acceptance.

When Gaius said, _that fall from the balcony_, Merlin had somehow seen a bed slide across the floor to catch the old man. When Gwen said _tomatoes_, Merlin could smell them, feel the wood of the stocks against his wrists and neck. Plates – and an ale jug smashing, Gwaine swinging his long dark hair out of his face to grin and introduce himself. Leon had said, _we teased you_ – and he pictured the older man bringing a full bowl out from behind his back. _Your enemies are my enemies_ brought a near-stifling sense of triumphant exhilaration, resolve in the face of grave danger, which he hadn't understood until Arthur stepped in front of him. _Everyone stood but you_. Arthur had said, _Merlin?_ and he'd heard the echo of it in his mind, expectantly sarcastic.

He had let go of his hard-won sanity, let go of the truths that had been drilled into him by kind and ignorant doctors, had plunged willingly back into the unbelievable truth of who he was.

"Are you thinking of Freya?" Gwen asked quietly.

"It hasn't worked for her like that," Merlin said. "She saw Gaius for a second on a rainy night, and – it happened before Gwaine or Percival or Elyan even came to Camelot."

"Have you thought about –" Arthur hesitated, "_why_ she's back, now? I mean, don't get me wrong, Merlin, I'm thrilled you – have her –" He stumbled only slightly over the word _have_. "But there hasn't been _anyone_ else. It seems… unnecessarily brutal, to bring her back, if -"

"If she's going to believe I'm certifiably insane?" Merlin said. "Arthur." He opened his eyes and sat forward. "She wasn't completely… unconnected. When she… when she died, I – put her body in a boat. Pushed it out to the lake." Arthur shifted in his seat to meet his eyes and he understood what Merlin hadn't said – _like I did for you_.

"Oh, Merlin," Gwen sighed.

"I – saw her, after that," Merlin admitted, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "Spoke to her. Just once, she – gave me advice. Help. Encouragement. And when I –" His body remembered the movement, muscles tensing against the weight and balance of the sword. "When I threw your sword – into the lake, she – I saw an arm reach up to catch it. Her arm."

"Freya's?" Arthur said.

"Oh my gosh," Gwen said. "She's the lady of the lake, isn't she? From the stories, the legends."

"Legends say the lady of the lake _gave_ Arthur the sword," Arthur said, and it was odd for Merlin to hear his friend distance himself from stories of his own life that way. "I never was clear on how Arthur was supposed to have gotten Excalibur from the lake, and the stone, both."

Merlin smiled, a little sadly.

"There's one story, though, about Excalibur being thrown into the lake by a knight – Bedivere, wasn't it – when Arthur – when you – at the end, I mean," Gwen said. Her voice trembled, and she brushed away a tear.

"Bedivere wasn't even there," Arthur scoffed.

Only me, Merlin thought, and shifted a little closer to Arthur in the car. _All your magic, and you can't save my life_… That fear returned, sometimes, that gaping abyss of what-if filled with fluttering demon-whispers. He forced his mind back to the question at hand; Gwaine had said, _if _he's_ back, why not the sword?_

"Nineteen ninety-three," Merlin said suddenly. "That was the year the guidebook said the Artorius Blade was found."

"The Artorius Blade?" Gwen said blankly.

"A sword belonging to Halbyon Incorporated," Arthur explained. "Yes, I know what Halbyon sounds like. We've been having – issues with the company. I'll explain all that later. Merlin thinks their sword looks like mine."

"Yours from –" Gwen said blankly. "Yours from the lake?"

"Recovered in nineteen ninety-three by fishermen on a lake near Glastonbury in Somerset," Merlin quoted. "That was the year – Freya was born."

Arthur looked back over his shoulder again, meeting and holding Merlin's eyes. "It's true – she's the lady of the lake? The – guardian of Excalibur?"

"Maybe she was granted a second life so the sword could be recovered and returned to you, sire." Merlin bit his lip – he hardly ever slipped and called Arthur by his former title, anymore, unless he was being heavily sarcastic, but Arthur didn't comment. "Or maybe the sword was found because she wasn't guarding it anymore," he said hurriedly, then shook his head – was there even a difference, in the two theories? Which came first, the chicken or the – he slid back in the seat, rubbing his temples.

"If that explains why she's back… why the sword – if it even is my sword – that doesn't explain," Arthur said slowly, "why she doesn't remember any of that."

"I know," Merlin said. He pictured himself, on the couch in his grandfather's townhouse – Gaius holding one hand, Gwen the other, Leon and Percival with their hands on his shoulders, Gwaine and Arthur before him. If there was no person whose connection could draw out Freya's realization of the truth, maybe…

Maybe the Artorius Blade could?

"We're going to have to find out if it is your sword," Merlin said, and Gwen glanced at Arthur. "One way or another."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The Scottie was glad to see Merlin, jingling as it raced to the door he unlocked, bouncing up as high as his waist all the way down the hall. "You missed me, huh?" Merlin said in weary amusement, going to let the dog out to the backyard.

The townhouse was quiet. He was almost never here when Gaius was not. He went to the fridge, found a Tupperware container of sausage, and one with baby peas, and heated them up in the microwave, though it wasn't yet noon. When his impromptu lunch was finished, he let the Scottie in from the backyard, and they both went upstairs to sleep on Merlin's bed.

Far away, he heard a ringing, and a voice. The warm little body of his adopted pet stirred at his feet, pulling him further out of sleep.

What was that? His phone? Merlin raised his head – the cell phone was not in its usual place on his desk. He slapped his back pockets – not there either. Did he have it on the plane? In the pocket of his other jeans, which had been wadded into the plastic bag at the hospital – or maybe it was still in his backpack, waiting to be claimed with everyone else's luggage when the remains of the aircraft had been cleared up?

He checked the clock – 4:14. he groaned and crawled out of bed, padding downstairs to find the plastic bag of his filthy, bloody clothes, and stopped. The house phone on the corner of the computer desk was blinking three messages. Crossing, he pressed the Play button, and dropped down into the desk chair to listen.

The first message had recorded Freya's voice. "Hi – Gaius." Hesitant, fearful. "It's about – quarter after ten. Just got your message – there was an accident? How bad is it? Is M- is he okay? I was at work, but I'm home now, so – call me?"

"Hi, Gaius, it's Freya again – I know it's early, but, um… I saw on the news, that plane crash, Denver to Dulles. Was that – that wasn't the plane _he_ was on, was it? Please call me back?"

The third message, it was obvious to him that she'd been crying, and was making an effort to be calm on the recording. "I guess you haven't gotten my messages… I hope that's not bad news…I understand if he – if he doesn't want to talk to me, but please… I just need to know he's all right? _Please_ call me? Um – it's about ten after four. Okay – bye."

Merlin picked up the receiver, dialed Freya's number. To his faint disappointment, her roommate answered.

"Yeah?" she said.

"It's Marvin," he said, "is Freya there?"

"Yeah, she's here. Just a minnit, lemme see if she wants to talk to you." More faintly, he heard her keep speaking, "_Frey! It's _him_ – you wanna talk or not_?" Freya's voice carried through the phone from even further away, the words indistinguishable but the emotion clear. "_Yeah, I mean, I guess_ –" Then, almost too loud in his ear, "You're all right, aren't you? _Yeah, Frey, he's fine, I mean, if he's _talking_ on the _phone –"

Freya's voice, breathless, "Hello?"

"It's me," he said, and she sobbed. He knew how she felt – just the sound of her voice made his chest feel tight. "I'm okay – just a concussion."

"What _happened_?" she demanded, as though all her anxiety was directly his fault, and now that worry was soothed anger could come out.

"The plane went down," he said. "Something to do with the engines… Nobody was killed, but – it was a mess for a while. They took us all to hospitals – we were in Fredericksburg. Gaius came down last night – he's still at the hospital because Leon had to stay to have surgery on his knee. I got a ride back with – with Gwen, this morning."

"Well, I – I'm glad you're all right."

There was a pause, and just as he broke it to say, "Can I see you –" she said, "Do you want to –" She gave a soft, emotional laugh at their simultaneous speech and continued, "Come by here, tonight? For a minute?"

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

"I'll be home," she told him. "Come anytime."

He'd said to Arthur that he wouldn't see her again. But he found he wasn't ready to give her up, yet – and maybe not ever. Not without a fight. Who was destiny to say he couldn't stay loyal to both of them?

_Don't take her_, he thought. _I am Arthur's. Can't she be mine?_

He took the stairs three at a time to shower and change – washing his hair twice til the water at his feet was no longer tainted by blood or dirt. Pushing his fingers through his hair to remove any tangles, he shook the last few water droplets out, then went back downstairs to dump his dirty things – clothes and bedding – into the wash machine.

Then he drove his Pathfinder to Freya's apartment building, parked and turned the engine off.

Memories mingled, countless times she'd smiled at him in this lifetime, the scant handful of times cherished from the previous one. The way she'd skittered back in fear from him, the first time he'd returned to the lowest level of the palace where he'd hidden her. The way she grinned and leaned over from the passenger seat of the Pathfinder, inviting him to kiss her while he was driving, teasing him to try to divide his attention between the road, and her.

He realized that there was music coming from the radio. _I have often walked… down this street before/ But the pavement always stayed beneath my feet before_… "Are you kidding me?" he said aloud. "The engine's not even on." _All at once am I… several stories high/ Knowing I'm… on the street… where you live…_

Merlin got out of the vehicle, slammed the door behind him, and entered the building. She lived on the ground floor, each apartment door opening to the straight central hallway, the carpet short and rough. Number 6, and he hesitated only briefly before knocking.

Her roommate opened the door, a leggy girl with pale green eyes and dark hair cut short around her ears. "Oh, it's you," she said, and made no move to let him in. "You know, if you really loved her, you'd leave her alone. Honestly, if you knew how much of a headache you are around here –"

"Cassie," Merlin said, "I appreciate that you want what's best for Freya. So do I." If she decided she'd be happier without him, he'd let her go – immediately and completely. But –

"Cassie, is that –" Freya came into view, and stopped short, her mouth dropping open at the sight of him.

"Hi," he said inadequately. She crossed to him slowly, almost helplessly, and he kept his arms at his sides with an effort. It would be so easy to draw her to him, hold her tight until she relented. But he knew that wasn't what she wanted; she had to figure this out for herself.

Cassie rolled her eyes ostentatiously, huffing in scorn as she left the door to disappear down the hallway to their bedrooms.

Freya stopped in the doorway, reached up to touch the scab on his forehead so tenderly that he shivered. "Looks worse than it feels," he said hoarsely. He knew the bruising spread across a third of his face, by now.

There were tears in her eyes as she looked at him, searched his eyes – for what, he wasn't sure. Then she lifted on her tiptoes and put her arms around him, holding him, stroking the back of his neck. He allowed himself to put his hands on her shoulder blades, return the embrace gently. "I was so worried," she said into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I love you," she told him. "God help me, I do."

He slid his hands past each other to wrap his arms more securely around her. "We'll make it," he told her. "I promise. We'll find a way. Anything it takes, Freya, I will do anything it takes, to be with you."

She pulled back a little. "Anything?" she said, with a hint of soft disbelief that sent a splinter through his heart.

He sighed. No, not anything - not medication and therapy. "A compromise?" he suggested, bending his forehead to touch hers. "Some time – maybe some time away, just me and you, take a trip or something?" To a place with mountains, and a lake – maybe some cows…

"I want to help you," she said, her body trembling against his with her vehemence. "But you know I can't accept – what you said to me. I can't tell you that you're okay…"

"Do you trust me?" he said. It was a different question than, do you believe me?

There was a long silence. Her eyes were closed, her hands ran lightly over his shoulders, his chest, down his arms; they were close enough to breathe each other's breath. "Yeah," she said, opening her eyes finally to spill two tears down her cheeks. "Yeah, I do."

"Okay," he said, taking her back in his arms. "I don't want to lose you, love. Just – stay with me, all right?" He could feel her conflict, between heart and mind – the _logical_ not matching up with the _true_. He understood. He'd felt that before. "And I'll stay with you. I promise."

_Love me, that's all I ask of you…_

**A/N: This is what you get when you split a chapter into two – one slightly shorter than normal and one a couple pages longer… this is your treat for your patience. :P**

**This felt a little disjointed to me, writing it, hopefully it reads okay; Merlin is post-concussion, after all… **


	10. Delivered

**Chapter 10: Delivered**

"So what do you think of Merlin's theory?" Arthur said to Gwen, pushing the power button on the tv remote. They'd been watching a Sunday-night special about the pilot of the Denver-Dulles flight, who – along with an equally bemused copilot – had been given the credit for inexplicably saving the lives of all his passengers. "The connection between Merlin's lady, the lake of Avalon, and this Artorius Blade that Halbyon owns."

"They say," Gwen said, struggling, and he stood to pull her up from the recliner, "that legends often have a basis in fact. I'm willing to take Merlin's word for it."

"You believe it is my sword, then?" Arthur said, surprised, gathering their drink glasses and ice cream bowls awkwardly off the coffee table, tucking the bowls into the crook of his left arm and pinching the rims of the glasses together. "But you didn't even see the picture of it from the guidebook."

"Oh, leave that, I can get it in the morning," Gwen protested.

"I've got it," Arthur said. "You go start getting ready for bed."

Gwen paused at the door of their bedroom. "Merlin – knows things," she said. "He knew a lot more than anyone gave him credit for, before, and even now – you know you trust his instincts as well as your own."

"Almost," Arthur muttered to himself, carrying the dishes to the kitchen sink. "I guess I'll be talking to him about it tomorrow, though." He raised his voice so it would carry to her in the bedroom. "He said he wanted to have a look at the exhibit at the Smithsonian. I have _no_ idea how it's going to affect our relations with Halbyon. Merlin seems to think it imperative that we –" He entered the bedroom to find Gwen lying on the floor.

She was on her back, knees drawn up and arms out to the sides. She gave him a sheepish grin. "It's my back," she said. "My lower back, just like it always is. It just – _aches_ so, I can't get comfortable."

"You've been on the couch and in the chair all day," Arthur said, crouching down beside her. "With the heating pad."

She squirmed, reaching to pull her knees up a little with her hands. "I know," she said, her voice carrying both apology and warning.

"Right," he said, slapping his knees and standing. "Where are your shoes?"

"Why?" She didn't move.

"Let's go to the ER." She scoffed and he added, "At least they can give you pain meds better than over-the-counter Tylenol. Come on."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

**Monday. 9:33 am**. Arthur sat in a plastic chair in the hallway of Inova Alexandria Hospital, elbow on his knee, head in his hand. His stomach growled; he hadn't eaten anything for breakfast.

The plastic creaked as someone dropped into the chair next to him. "How is she?" Merlin said.

Arthur shrugged without opening his eyes. "Fine, considering," he said. "Brought her in last night to get a prescription for a stronger pain med – her back, remember. They sent us right up here – evidently, after thirty-five weeks you get automatically referred to L and D. They asked about contractions – she told them about those practice ones she's been having for almost two months now. So they wanted to keep her overnight. For _observation_."

"And this morning?" Merlin asked.

"This morning, during a _routine_ check, her water broke."

Merlin hummed sympathetically. "So the baby is on its way."

"Three weeks early," Arthur reminded him.

"That's not even considered premature, is it?" Merlin said. "Come on, don't worry. The nursery is ready, right? Everything's ready."

"I'm not," Arthur mumbled into his hand. "We were just saying yesterday, how my hand should be healed in time to hold the baby…"

"You want me to help?" Merlin asked.

Arthur lifted his head to look at his friend. Merlin was dressed in a jeans and faded gray t-shirt with an obscure blue logo on the left shoulder. His hair was slightly more unkempt than normal, the bruising spreading out from beneath it, down his cheek, across his forehead, circling his right eye. "How's your head?" Arthur said.

Merlin understood what Arthur was really asking. "In the last sixty hours, I've slept fifty," he said. "Gaius told me, it was like pulling a muscle."

"Rest, ice, and heat?" Arthur said ironically. "How does that work with magic?"

"Rest, yes," Merlin protested with a small private smile, "but I can still use it – I mean, within reason. And carefully. It shouldn't be too long before I'm at full strength again." Arthur looked at him, slender and lanky as ever, and shook his head. Full strength. "I can probably heal your hand if you want me to."

It was throbbing. He hadn't brought his medication with him – probably he should return home for that sometime today. And Gwen had been bathing and re-bandaging it for him every day, too, he'd have to do that himself, now, somehow. It was a temptation to give his hand to his friend and ask for healing magic, except for the memory of Merlin staggering between passengers seated on the dirt and leaves, white-faced and blank-eyed, half-killing himself to heal those injured in the crash he hadn't been able to completely prevent.

"No," he said. "I'm fine." There was also the consideration, the worry that had eased somewhat at Merlin's arrival – childbirth. Gwen in childbirth. His own mother had died twice that way. If anything was to go wrong, he wanted Merlin's magic for _that_, not for his own discomfort. "How many days did you take off, anyway?" he said.

"Just two, today and tomorrow," Merlin said. "Leon's got the whole week, and more if he needs it. Percival's in Maine with Ray and Jason, so Gwaine's the center of attention in Camelot."

"Bet he's loving that," Arthur muttered.

"Better him than me," Merlin said, and shuddered theatrically. "He can tell the story to every single person for all I care, as long as no one asks me."

But, Arthur thought, there was one organization who definitely would. He had to admit, he was a little relieved that he could push Halbyon to the back burner for another week.

**9:45 am**. "Arthur?" A gentle older man with shoulders stooped under his white doctor's coat emerged from the room. Arthur was on his feet in an instant, Merlin just after him. "She's doing fine, baby's fine. Contractions coming at four minutes, and she hasn't started to dilate yet, but it's early. You can go in."

Arthur didn't even wait for the doctor to finish his sentence. They'd moved his chair, and he grabbed the back of it to drag it again to the side of the bed. Gwen smiled at him, then her eyes turned to the door.

"Oh, Merlin," she said. "You can come in." She pulled the sheet up to cover more of the hospital gown, her belly making a huge mound in the white material. "I'm sorry, I look a wreck."

"I bet I look worse," Merlin said with an impish grin that made Gwen smile.

"You two do look like you're in the wrong ward," she teased. "ER waiting room, more like."

"How are you feeling?" Merlin said, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing at the foot of the bed.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."

"Guess you didn't get much sleep last night?" he said, and Arthur rolled his eyes at the understatement.

"It's going to be the story of my life for a while," Gwen said cheerfully. "Months and months and – Arthur, did I tell you I'm bringing this bed home with me? It's great, Merlin – look, you can raise and lower the area for your knees, and there's even a button to change the pressure behind your back – you can have it really firm, or soft if you want."

"This one's the call button for the nurse?" Merlin said. "Will that be Arthur, then?"

Gwen laughed. "I'll have to bring one of them home with me, too."

Arthur growled, "I'll rig it so that it rings to your phone, Merlin."

"Oh, stop," Gwen said, chuckling. "Turn that knob there, and listen."

Arthur had already heard it, and enjoyed the look of surprise and wonder on Merlin's face at the fast thumpthumpthump of the baby's heartbeat. It made him look like the kid he'd been, in the first Camelot, wide-eyed and naïve.

The sound was muffled briefly, then stopped altogether. Merlin's hand hovered over the dials of the machine, "Did I mess something up?" he asked.

"No, it wasn't you." Gwen shifted her weight in the raised bed, reached modestly under the sheet and her gown to adjust the small box strapped to her belly. "Maybe I can get it back. Wait…" Thump – thump – thump. "No, that's mine. They'll come back and fix it in a bit, I'm sure. He just keeps _moving_."

Merlin grinned at her, and Arthur took her hand – and then his mind caught up. "_He_?" he said.

Gwen blushed. "Now, Arthur, don't be mad…"

"I thought we weren't going to find out," Arthur scolded her gently. "You knew?"

"It was an accident," Merlin protested, giving him a look that was _too_ innocent for the Merlin that Arthur knew.

"_He_ knew?" Arthur said to Gwen. "He told you?" He gave Merlin a glare. "You _told_ her?"

"It was an accident," Merlin repeated. "A slip of the tongue."

Gwen squeezed his hand and he squeezed back. _He_. And then he couldn't help grinning at his wife, and if it felt sappy on his face, he didn't care. "A boy?" he said to Gwen, "A son?" She nodded, radiant.

**10:11 am**. Gwaine texted, **Howz it going?** He responded, **Slow**.

**10:42 am**. Gwen woke up from a brief nap when the nurse came to check on her again, and the two men were promptly excused from the room.

"Has the airline said when we're getting our stuff back?" Merlin asked.

Arthur himself was a little glad that he didn't have his phone or his laptop; it was a great excuse - not that he needed one – of ignoring work completely to focus on his family. Gwen's phone was sufficient to keep in touch with all the important people. But Arthur knew it made Merlin feel edgy to have those things out of his possession. Even though he would not be near as susceptible to the sort of evil prank that had been played on him when he'd been separated from his laptop for a week at Fort Bragg. And of course, they'd probably need more than a week to hack Merlin's computer, anyway.

"Sometime this week," he answered.

**10:57 am**. The stooped-shouldered doctor emerged again from the room. "Four-minute contractions still steady. Dilation still at zero. Give it time."

Back inside the room, Merlin dragged a second chair to the bedside and stretched his forearms out on the bedrail, propping his chin on his hands. "What did Elyan say?" he asked Gwen.

"He said, why couldn't you wait?" Gwen laughed, and made a face. "Men, honestly!" Arthur made a token protest, but Merlin merely gave Gwen an angelic smile, as if he were somehow exempt from the classification. "He's on the next flight down from Maine," Gwen explained. "It's supposed to leave at quarter after noon, I think, which means he should be here around two o'clock? It'll take my parents longer, actually, they drove to Myrtle Beach for the week. But they'll be here around four or so, I guess." She sighed. "The consensus seems to be that I messed up everybody's plans."

"Not his," Merlin said, pointing in the general direction of her midsection with another small smile.

She leaned over toward Arthur, and he put his good arm around her shoulders, kissed her forehead. "At least you're here," she said, and her voice trembled.

Arthur held her a little more closely, knowing that she meant more than just the timing of his trip, more even than their survival of the wreck. Tears shone suddenly in Merlin's blue eyes, though the smile stayed in place.

**12:04 pm**. Gaius had come to spend his lunch hour at the hospital, and insisted on using supplies provided by the nurses to change the bandages on Arthur's hand. Gwen watched with interest, but at the first hint of blood on the gauze wrapping, Merlin had been ordered from the room by his grandfather.

"Your pacing has always made me nervous," Gaius told him. "You can't use your magic, and if you can't stand still and be quiet – out."

The old physician's hands were gentle as Gwen's in soaking the last layer of bandage off with a saline solution. To Arthur's eyes, the dark and swollen digits, the crawling lines of red and tiny black sutures were still horrific, but Gaius seemed pleased, as he carefully placed the sections of salve-infused bandage in place before wrapping fingers and hand with more gauze.

"How's Leon, then?" Gwen asked, as Gaius worked.

"He spent Friday night with his sister, after the surgery," Gaius said. "But it went very well, and they don't expect to have to do any further work. He'll be on crutches for a few weeks, and might possibly face a few sessions of rehabilitation after that, depending on the healing process."

**12:26 pm. ** "You have a long wait ahead of you, sire," the old physician told Arthur. "Three and a half-minute contractions and no dilation means nothing will be happening soon."

"I can't eat anything anyway," Gwen told Arthur. "Clear liquid diet. You," her brown eyes sparkled at him, her natural energy only slightly dimmed by the long night and morning, "need your strength. I can't hold the hand of a man who's cranky because he's hungry."

"I don't get cranky when I'm hungry," Arthur protested.

Merlin let out a hard, "_Ha_!"

"I," Gwen declared, "am the only one allowed to be cranky today. Go get something to eat."

**2:10 pm**. "Oooh," Gwen said. "Give me a minute." Touching the side panel of the bed, she pressed a button to lower the top of the bed, her head pushed back into the pillow. Beside Merlin, the machine recording the contractions whirred and spat out pink tape six inches wide, ink scratched across the graph to show intensity and duration.

After a moment, she took a deep, deliberate breath and pushed the button to bring herself a little more upright. Arthur was sure her hand hadn't so much as left the control for the last hour. "You're supposed to breathe through it," he said. "Not hold your –" Her glare stopped him from finishing.

"Only two minutes that time," Merlin commented, his eyes on the paper. "And – lasted thirty seconds. A hard one, huh?" His tone was sympathetic, but Gwen took exception.

"_I know that_!" she snapped. "I'm the one it's happening to!"

A nurse entered the room in a swish of periwinkle scrubs. "How are we doing?" she said cheerfully.

Gwen didn't answer. Merlin stepped back, and Arthur said, "She's just had another –"

"Uh-huh," the nurse said, checking the pink paper unrolling as the jagged lines shrank, then rested her hand lightly and briefly on the top of Gwen's stomach. "Good job, darlin', is it hurting a lot yet?"

"Not really," Gwen said. "It's just a lot of pressure. I can feel the muscles tightening, but – no, not really much pain."

"Good, let's hope it stays that way," the nurse said. Arthur noticed a little self-satisfied smile flit across Merlin's face, behind the nurse's back, and opened his mouth – then changed his mind.

"How about another walk, darlin', do you feel up to that? It'll help speed things along, you know."

"It hasn't yet," Gwen grouched, but cooperated as the nurse arranged the bed, the sheet, the monitor wires and straps. Arthur adjusted the back overlap of the knee-length printed hospital gown for modesty's sake, and Merlin opened the door so they could go out to the hall.

"Gwen!" another male voice called down the hall. "Are you sure you should be up?" Elyan continued, approaching down the hall and giving his gown-clad sister a heartfelt if awkward hug. "Shouldn't you be – in bed or something?"

"I'm walking," Gwen informed him evenly. "It's supposed to speed things up. Walk with me, if you like." She shuffled down the hallway, one hand on the plastic bumper-rail that ran the length of the wall. Elyan trailed her, throwing a glance over his shoulder that was equal parts glad welcome and overwhelmed concern.

"You did magic on my wife?" Arthur said aside to Merlin.

"Yep." Merlin had the audacity to look pleased with himself. "Just a little, to take the edge off the pain."

They watched her pause and lean her back against the wall, one hand at the top of her stomach where the muscles pulled together. Elyan practically fluttered, a frantic look on his face, and Gwen laughed at him even in the middle of the contraction.

"Bless your heart, darlin'," the nurse said, pausing to make sure she was okay. "You are so brave."

"Do not _ever_ tell her," Arthur ordered, sticking his finger in Merlin's face. "To her dying day, you let her believe that this was something she accomplished on her own."

"Do you know," Merlin murmured, looking at Gwen and not Arthur, "how incredibly ironic it is for you to say that to me?"

"She didn't even want your help with her flowerbed," Arthur said. "She'll be pissed if she knows you interfered in her giving birth if she hasn't asked you to."

With a twinkle of amusement, Merlin mimed closing his lips with a zipper.

**3:21 pm**. Gwen's phone rang on the side table, and Arthur reached for it.

"Is it Mom and Dad?" she asked, pushing the button to raise the bed slightly.

"No, it's…" He concentrated on recognizing the number; it wasn't in her phone's address book. "It's work."

"You can take the call," she said.

"I'll wait til Elyan and Merlin get back," he told her, smiling and smoothing her hair back from her face. Elyan had not eaten a noon meal before boarding the plane in Bangor, so Merlin had gone with him downstairs to the cafeteria.

"I'm sorry this is taking so long," she said.

"Don't say that," he chided her softly. "It takes as long as it takes, that's all."

The nurse in the periwinkle pushed through the door, followed by the stoop-shouldered older doctor. "Shall we check you again, darlin'?" the nurse said.

Arthur stood to leave, and bent to kiss his wife's forehead. "I love you," he told her, and her answering smile was grateful.

Once in the hallway, he looked blankly at the phone still in his hand, sighed, and pressed for the voicemail-retrieval option. The message was from Mary, his PA. "_Good afternoon, Mr. Drake – and Gwen, of course. I hope things are going well at the hospital. I have a message for you from Halbyon, they wanted to confirm that you received it. Call me back at your convenience, sir._"

Damn it. Not now. Arthur gritted his teeth, erased the voicemail, and keyed to return the call. "Hi, Patty," he said to the receptionist who answered. "This is Arthur Drake. No, we're still waiting on the baby. Gwen is fine. Can you put me through to Mary? Thanks."

"Mr. Drake!" Mary came on the line seconds later. "Patty said the baby hasn't come yet? How is Gwen?"

"She's fine," he said. "She's lovely. A little impatient, but not in a lot of pain. Just – waiting."

"You can't rush a baby," Mary sympathized.

"This message from Halbyon," Arthur said. "Was it from Wendy Doran?"

"Ah, no," Mary said. "From a man. Claude Summerall. I told him that you weren't available, and he asked if it was for medical reasons. Is he a friend of yours?"

"No," Arthur said. "Probably he heard about the accident last Thursday night. What did you tell him?"

"I told him I was not at liberty to say."

"Good, Mary, thank you," Arthur said. Only part of her worth to him and to the company was her discretion, but occasionally it was a very large part. "What was the message?"

"He said to tell you _Congratulations_," she answered. "That's quite an odd thing to say to someone who's survived an accident, isn't it? _Congratulations, and_ _welcome back_ – which isn't entirely accurate, since you weren't in today, but if he didn't know about Mrs. Drake –"

"Anything else?" Arthur said, glad also that Mary did not take personal offense when he was short with her.

"Yes, he said he was looking forward to you getting in touch with him, or else, he said, he'd have to be in touch with you. Again. That was the way he said it, Mr. Drake, with that pause there. But you said you didn't know him?"

_Oh, hell_. "I'll call you later," Arthur said. "Thanks, Mary."

He stood in the hallway as nurses hurried past, and two other pregnant women, one in a gown and one in street clothes. Phones rang.

Hell_damn_fire, as Merlin said. _Congratulations_ on surviving the plane crash caused by the magical assassin – whatever the hell Shane had been – they'd sent against Arthur Drake and Marvin Caroban. _Welcome back_. So it wasn't only Wendy Doran who knew and believed their identity. It wasn't only a thriving business and an exceptionally-talented computer analyst, even a potential telekinetic they were after, but actually _Arthur and Merlin_.

"Your first?" someone said, and Arthur looked up into the dark eyes of a man with gray in the hair at his temples and a tired, knowing smile.

"Yes?" Arthur said.

The older man clapped his shoulder. "Good luck with that."

**4:06** **pm**. They heard Elyan's and Merlin's voices at the door before the two entered. Merlin's eyes went to Arthur's face and Arthur knew his friend could tell he was still upset.

But before Merlin could voice his question, Elyan turned back to the doorway, exclaiming, "Mom! Dad!" and Gwen's parents entered the room.

And in the chaos of greetings – of hugs and hand-shakes – Arthur saw that Merlin had forgotten his moment of perceptive concern, ascribing Arthur's state of mind to the baby, hopefully.

**5:10 pm**. "Well, I had hoped to meet this baby today," the stoop-shouldered doctor said wistfully to Arthur and the three other men behind him. "We're still at two-minutes and one centimeter dilation. I'm going to order both a Pitocin drip to speed the labor, and go ahead with the epidural, to relax the lower muscles, even though she says she's not in much pain. And the physician that will be in charge of her this evening will take things from here." He shook Arthur's hand, nodded to the others, and walked away down the hall.

**6:42 pm**. Gaius and Gwaine both stopped to visit, Gaius to sit across from Mrs. Bell at the bedside, hold Gwen's hand and comfort them all with his placid nothing-to-worry-about physician's demeanor. Gwaine commiserated with Arthur in the hall, and leaned in the door – as far as he could be persuaded to go - to give Gwen a cheery wave and grin.

**7:14 pm**. The others returned from dinner in the cafeteria. Merlin brought a Styrofoam box of food for Arthur – barbecued ribs and an already-peeled orange. Arthur rolled his eyes at Merlin's idea of a dinner he could eat one-handed. Gwen's father brought a similar container for his wife. Gwen ate a cupful of ice chips.

There were no more walks, not after the epidural shot had numbed Gwen's body from the waist down – though she said it was more like, from the armpits down.

**9:57 pm**. The evening doctor, a tiny Asian woman in her mid-forties, met them at the doorway after performing another check on Gwen's status, and frowned.

"I don't like it," she said. "The contractions are coming hard and fast thanks to that Pitocin, but she's still only at one centimeter. The baby's heart-rate is elevated…" Her black eyes sharpened on Arthur's. "I'm going to have her prepped for surgery."

"Surgery," Arthur said numbly. He vaguely registered the exclamations of his brother- and father-in-law, the touch of Merlin's hand on his shoulder.

"Emergency Cesarean," the doctor said. "No, don't worry, emergency only means unscheduled. Your wife has been in labor for twenty-four hours, and we don't want to stress the baby any more. We'll be ready to perform the operation in about an hour."

"Should I –" Merlin whispered. Arthur nodded, but as his sorcerer made to enter the room, the night nurse blocked him.

"Sorry, no," the elderly, dark-skinned woman said firmly. "Immediate family, only, now."

Merlin looked back at Arthur, who might've laughed, otherwise. The only one there who might have been able to help the expectant mother and baby was also the only one who _wasn't_ Gwen's immediate family.

"Leave it for now," he said to Merlin, not caring what the nurse might think. "If we need you, later, I _will_ come get you."

Merlin nodded. "I'll be here."

**11:36 pm**. Arthur shivered on his padded stool. It was freezing in the operating room. He tightened his grip on Gwen's hand, the curtain dropped from the ceiling obscuring everything but her arms, which were stretched out to the side, and her neck and head, her hair tucked into a soft blue cap. Arthur was glad, himself, that he could see nothing of the surgery. It was hard enough to watch her lie still with her eyes shut, to wait, and listen to the sounds he couldn't block out, and shiver. He leaned forward to kiss her hand.

"It's a boy!" the Asian doctor declared, just before a thin angry wail rose, and several of the staff laughed softly.

Gwen's eyes opened, and the doctor held their son high enough for her to see him over the curtain. "A boy," she whispered to Arthur.

He found himself laughing as he nodded, and wiped away tears of his own.

**Tuesday, 12:01 am**. His little son was a tiny bundle, only his face visible, eyes scrunched shut, sleeping already. The blue-striped blanket they'd wrapped him in matched the little soft cap covering the coffee-colored fuzz on his head. Arthur held him in his good right hand, head cradled in Arthur's palm, the rest of his body supported on Arthur's forearm, just reaching his elbow.

It was amazing to Arthur that they let him carry the newborn out to the hallway to show off to the family. He thought for sure someone would run after him, declaring the mistake and demanding that he return the baby to the care of the nursing staff.

"We'll meet you down the hall in the nursery," he was told.

Gwen's mother actually squealed when the waiting group caught sight of him. The new grandpa and uncle smiled exactly the same unreserved, quietly happy smile. Arthur looked past them to meet Merlin's eyes, the wide grin of transcendent joy there fairly taking Arthur's breath away.

Then Merlin put his arm diagonally across his body, and bowed.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur yawned as he approached Gwen's hospital room. Hot water and hot food warred with the caffeine of the black coffee in the covered cup in his hand.

The return of the Bell family that morning - as promised when they left not long after midnight – meant that Arthur had been – encouraged, ordered, invited – _sent_ home to take a shower and a nap and a meal. And the pain medication for his hand.

"There's your daddy," Gwen's mother said to the bundle in her arms as he entered the room, and he couldn't help smiling as his heart leaped. "You know, Arthur, it's too bad your father couldn't be here to welcome the son of his son."

"I spoke with him this morning," Arthur said neutrally, aware of Gwen and Elyan's eyes on him. They'd known Uther Pendragon and Thomas Drake, both, better than the Bells had, even before the stroke. "We'll be visiting him another day, hopefully. When everyone is feeling up to it." He focused on Gwen and smiled more genuinely. "Did you sleep, too?" he asked. "I brought your things –" He held up two shopping bags, containing her favorite pair of sweats and other necessary garments, and every single article from their shower at home that was hers.

"Oh, good," Gwen said, pushing the buttons to rearrange the bed. "I've been up twice now, they said I could shower when I felt like it – you don't mind helping?"

Arthur blushed as his wife's brother, mother, and father all looked at him. "Of course not," he said gallantly, "as long as I can manage it one-handed."

As it turned out, she didn't need much help. There was a shower stall in the bathroom, complete with a tall stool and a hand-held detachable shower-head. Arthur merely handed her a towel when she was through, and steadied her as she dressed, listening to her chatter and feeling a little overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions of joy and dread, satisfaction and anxiety.

When they emerged from the bathroom, Gwen slouched over, one hand over her abdomen and the other clinging to his good arm, he was surprised to see Merlin and Freya, who had evidently just come in the room.

"Congratulations," Freya said, coming to give Gwen a careful hug, a pink paper shopping bag at her wrist. "I brought you a new-mom present. Pajamas." She held up the bag.

"Victoria's Secret?" Arthur said dubiously.

Freya made a face, and without looking at him, said to Gwen, "They're not _that_ kind of pajamas. Wrists to ankles – silk, and completely comfy."

"Thank you," Gwen said, and shuffled slowly to the bed. "Come meet Andrew." As Gwen's mother gently passed the blanket-wrapped baby to Freya, Gwen sat on the edge of the bed, lifting one leg, then the other before sinking back onto the pillows. Tired, Arthur saw, but _so_ happy.

The three women cooed over the baby, while the four men shuffled self-consciously. Merlin stepped closer to Arthur to murmur, "Did you ask her if she wants me to heal her?"

"She said no," Arthur returned in the same low tone. "She wants to have the whole experience of childbirth, good and bad. Said she'll heal at her own pace, barring any emergencies."

"What about your hand, then?" Merlin said.

"Not right now. Say, what happened with – Freya?" Arthur whispered the name. "I thought you weren't going to see her again?"

"Well, we kind of have an agreement," Merlin said. "Sort of a dead-"

Arthur glanced at his friend to see that Merlin had gone white as a sheet and completely still. He followed the sorcerer's gaze as Freya came toward them, carrying tiny Andrew in the crook of her arm and smiling – not at him, she probably still considered him at fault for Merlin's delusions – at Merlin.

"Run, Eliza, run?" Merlin suggested in kind of a strangled voice.

"What?" Freya said, as if she hadn't heard him, or hadn't really been paying attention. Merlin didn't move, even though she shifted the baby to pass to his arms. He just stared at her, fascinated, as if he expected her to suddenly whirl and flee.

"What?" Arthur echoed. Merlin did sometimes say the oddest things, but – his friend ignored him, too.

Beside the bed, Gwen's mother commented, "You know a girl is serious about her man when she starts thinking about how he looks with a baby in his arms."

Elyan snorted and Gwen hissed at him, "Oh, stop it."

Merlin glanced uncertainly at them, regaining color swiftly, then gave Freya a deep searching look, before accepting the sleeping infant into the cradle of his arms.

Attached to the bed by a long, extendable, positioning arm was a 12-inch tv screen, currently pushed all the way back to give as much room as possible to visitors. It snapped on to a children's cartoon in the middle of a song. _From the day we arrive on the planet… and blinking… step into the sun… _

"Gwen, dear, did you sit on the remote?" said her mother, trying to locate that object by its long cord, draped over the back of the bed.

_ It's the circle of life… and it moves us all… through despair and hope…_

"It's got to be somewhere in here," Gwen agreed, shuffling through the blankets and sheets and extra pillows surrounding her. A tear shone briefly on her cheek, though she was smiling hugely.

_ Til we find our place… on the path unwinding… _

Merlin didn't even seem to notice, his gaze transferring from Andrew's scrunched-up sleeping face to Arthur's. Arthur wanted to laugh at him, but the feeling of euphoric triumph – a son! he and Gwen had a son! – made it impossible. Instead he only gave Merlin a sardonic grin and cut his eyes toward the tv meaningfully. _In the circle… the circle of life!_

"Really, Merlin?" he said softly. "You're going to earn yourself another nickname, you know – and don't ever hold my son up over a cliff, if you please."

"Oh, right," Merlin said confusedly, and the tv blinked off. He gave his head a little shake as if to clear it, and jounced little Andrew gently. The baby squirmed slightly in his blanket-wrapped bundle, pushing one tiny fist free, then opened his eyes to blink at Merlin.

_Ye gods, what a moment_, Arthur thought. What a brilliantly blindingly glorious –

The tiny pursed mouth opened in a yawn, and then immediately again in a thin wail.

Arthur had seen the same thing happen to Elyan, and Gwen's father – it had even happened to him, once during the night – but the sound didn't seem to faze Merlin at all.

"Uh-huh," Merlin said to the newborn. "I see. Mama it is, then." He carried the bundled child back to Gwen's arms as the new grandma rummaged in a drawer of the rolling cupboard under the clear-plastic crib for a bottle of formula. Freya moved forward to seat herself at the foot of the bed, and as Merlin retreated, he cocked his head in a clear nonverbal invitation for Arthur to join him in the hallway.

"We won't stay long," Merlin said, and over Arthur's objections he went on, "Gwen's tired, you're tired, and the Bells are here – there'll be plenty of time for us another day." He reached to grasp Arthur's bandaged hand around the wrist, and his eyes gleamed golden, before the faint aching throb Arthur had almost grown used to faded.

"Thanks," Arthur said dryly. Merlin always did have a mind of his own, especially when it came to magic. "You're off today, do you - "

"I'm – off until further notice," Merlin said, and at Arthur's look he hastened to explain. "We received word from the airline that they'd have our luggage ready to be claimed tomorrow, so I'll get my laptop back and just work from wherever I am. And while I'm in D.C. I thought – I'd stop by the Smithsonian. I wondered… if you want to go with me, I'll wait for a few days, maybe one morning when Freya's off and can stay with Gwen…"

Oh, yeah, _that_. Arthur felt his face pull into a frown. _Or else, he said, he'd have to be in touch with you. Again. _A plane crash with himself and three friends on it was bad enough, but – did he have to worry about Halbyon targeting Gwen and Andrew, ever? "Merlin, we've already got to deal with Halbyon about Shane and the merger – and _you_. They don't know that we know about the sword yet, and if they did, it would give them a huge advantage. They would assume that we'd want it back, at any price."

"They'd assume right," Merlin said. "That sword shouldn't be in anyone's hands but yours –"

"If it even _is_ mine," Arthur clarified.

"And it's not entirely illogical to suppose that if it _is_, it might help Freya to remember – at least _some_ of her life, at least enough…"

Arthur understood. At least enough to accept Merlin _as_ Merlin. To end the tension between the two and allow the relationship to proceed.

"If it's in a museum, it's not in anyone's hands," Arthur said diplomatically.

Merlin looked at him in startled disbelief. "You would leave it there?" he said.

Arthur considered, then said, "Yes. Look, Merlin – no listen, for a minute – will you listen, dammit! I don't _need_ a sword anymore, I don't _use_ a sword anymore. We do not need any more issues muddying the waters between us and Halbyon."

Merlin's arms were folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was set and his eyes were down.

Arthur relented a little. "Look, if it's in the Smithsonian, just take Freya there to see it – you should at least be able to tell if it will help her, right?"

"It belongs to _you_," Merlin said, intensely stubborn.

"Maybe not anymore," Arthur told him, and turned to re-enter the room.

**A/N: I should probably let you know, scouts and softball are starting this week, and I'm expecting company next week through Easter, so for a couple of weeks the updates will probably come more slowly… **


	11. Treasured

**Chapter 11: Treasured**

Merlin stood in a state of shock. Absolutely still, face and body – and magic – firmly controlled.

Staring into the glass exhibit case, aware of the blue carpet beneath his feet, the lighting pitched to be vivid on the items on display, and soft throughout the rest of the room. Aware of the voices of other museum patrons. Aware of Freya's voice, beside and a half-step behind him.

"The deposition of swords, weaponry and other valuables in sacred lakes and rivers was a widespread practice in ancient Britain and amongst the Celtic peoples and Europe." Freya was reading from the sign advertising and explaining the special exhibit the Smithsonian was hosting.

"Ancient British Iron Age weapons found deposited in rivers and lakes are too numerous to count. The highlights of this collection include the well-known Battersea Shield and Waterloo Helmet from the Thames. A third attraction is the lesser-known and controversial Artorius Blade, found in 1993 by fishermen in a lake near Glastonbury in Somerset. Date of origin unspecified due to ongoing conflict. Experts in metallurgy claim 5th century AD, despite the condition of the piece, which seems to contradict such an early date, and certain inexplicable anomalies in the – blah, blah, blah." Freya hummed a moment, clearly skipping to a part she found more interesting.

Certain inexplicable anomalies. Merlin smirked briefly. He imagined the dragon-fire burnishing would prove problematic for a metallurgist. Interesting that something like that would show up in the modern testing of metals – then again, if scientists and doctors could find a DNA link to magic…

"The Artorius Blade was so named by its owner, Halbyon Incorporated, as a tribute to the Arthurian legend –" Freya paused. "Well, if it's named after the stories of King Arthur, why didn't they call it Excalibur? Why Artorius Blade?"

"I expect they would meet considerable resistance if they tried to claim it was Excalibur, or even name it so," Merlin said dispassionately. "Historical experts and legend fanatics and purists. All up in arms." He smirked, but she didn't seem to catch the pun. "Artorius is the Latinized version of Arthur."

"Is this why we came here?" Freya said, gently disapproving. "I thought we were just spending a day in D.C. – you know, getting _away_ from – it all."

Merlin shrugged, a twitch of his shoulders. "You know I'm – something of a fan," he said, reaching to put his hand on the case, in spite of the sign that said, _Thank you for not touching the glass._

"Yes I _know_, that's _why_ we were getting _away_," Freya said, sighing. "You promised, you know, not to speak of – all this."

"I know," he said softly.

"Still, I guess it's a shame not to even _see_ the sword," she said, lightly tugging at his arm as a not-so-subtle hint for him to move on to the next display.

He read the placard propped on the empty shelf inside the case one more time. _Removed from display by owner's request. Our apologies_.

"Yeah," he said. "It's a shame."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Days later, Merlin slammed the door so hard the townhouse seemed to shudder. The Scottie put his nose around the corner to peer nervously down the hallway at him.

"Merlin?" Gaius' voice pulled him further into their shared home, though he went somewhat reluctantly, dreading the conversation he expected and wouldn't avoid. "What is it, my boy? I thought you were bringing Freya to Gwen's baby shower – you were going to spend the morning with Arthur, were you not?"

"Yes, and – impossible," Merlin growled, stalking to the kitchen for a soda from the fridge.

Gaius sniffed the air as he passed the old man, seated on the couch with a large travel book. "What is that – you've been smoking again?" his grandfather said with disapproval.

"No. I mean, just one – okay, two – and I threw the rest of the pack away," Merlin said. The condiments in the door of the fridge rattled as he shut it vehemently.

Gaius looked over his shoulder and over the black rims of his half-glasses. "What is troubling you, Merlin?"

"Oh, take your pick!" Merlin exclaimed. "Shane – Halbyon – Arthur… the sword…"

"Why don't you come sit down, and begin at the beginning," Gaius proposed, folding the travel book shut and laying it on the glass coffee table before him. "And do attempt to apply some logic and coherency, for an old man's sake."

Merlin stalked into the living room – and continued on his feet, circumnavigating the room. "Can't sit," he said shortly, taking a swallow of soda.

"Well, pace, then," his grandfather said with a trace of asperity. "You did speak with Arthur?"

"Yeah." Merlin snorted, circling behind the couch.

"And he had news about your friend Shane?"

Merlin took a deep breath, and paused to lean back against the dining room table. This was his one piece of good news – well, good, depending on how you looked at it. "Chance is holding him in protective custody. There's no hard evidence linking him to the crash, after all." Even though Shane was not being allowed visitors, Chance had agreed to pass on a greeting from Merlin.

He hitched himself farther onto the table, leaned forward over his knees, balancing his can. "Here's the thing – Halbyon _has_ provided people with special abilities to various law enforcement agencies, but under the definition of _consultant_. Nowhere is the fact of extranatural abilities ever put in writing. And even if the existence of such a department within a personnel-supplying company is ever made public, there is nothing that implicates them in the three plane crashes. Even I couldn't say for sure if the other two were deliberate or just – freak accidents where someone with magic lost control in a spectacular way."

"And with Shane?" Gaius prompted.

"Casey sent me a message that they're coming up short on any hard evidence. Can't prove Shane's disappearance was an abduction rather than a voluntary action. Can't prove who totaled his car or why, can't prove unlawful imprisonment or any kind of ill treatment, especially with Shane insisting that he chose to go, and had his reasons. That file is closed – at least Eddie knows where he is, and that he's okay."

"But the message that Shane passed along from Halbyon?" Gaius said.

"Presumably." Merlin made a rude noise. "We know it was a threat, the take-down of the flight deliberate, but good luck proving that in a court of law. Although, as far as I'm concerned, that was more than just a warning shot across Camelot's bow – that was first blood. I'm completely okay with answering in kind."

"Patience, Merlin, yes?" Gaius said. "You must, as ever, gather evidence to support your suspicions before acting."

"_Legally_ and _cautiously_," he said with no small irritation. "Yes, thank you, Arthur's already made that perfectly clear."

"And he is right," Gaius said. "You must realize, when Arthur was a prince, he could occasionally risk his father's anger and perhaps even punishment to bend the law for the greater good, and as king of course he was in a position to apply the law or not, as he saw fit. The relationship of a lawmaker to his law is a unique thing, after all. But today – things are much different, Merlin. He must not become a law-breaker, there is far too much depending on him for that."

Merlin grumbled.

"And _you_ –" Gaius said, pointing a finger to chastise his grandson, grown man that he was. "You had a very casual view of the law, fifteen hundred years ago, and that attitude seems to be part of your personality in the modern lifetime, also."

Merlin shrugged, not bothering to hide a smirk. "When your very existence is illegal," he said, "and any moment could have you exposed and executed, well… such matters as spying and eavesdropping and – borrowing… don't seem exactly relevant." He took a drink of the soda. Occasionally more serious law-breaking had been necessary – planting evidence, fabricating witnesses… self-defense by deadly force.

"If you are caught," Gaius said, "the consequences will be rather more than a night in the cells or a day in the stocks or a week of ducking guards til Arthur can straighten things out. Consequences for more people than yourself, please be aware."

"If," Merlin said deliberately, "I'm caught."

Gaius' eyebrow lifted. "What exactly did you have in mind, Merlin?" he demanded.

Merlin didn't answer directly. "I did some research," he said, referring to his magically-enhanced hacking skills. "The Artorius Blade was returned to Halbyon when the exhibit reached D.C. – maybe they didn't want to run the risk of any of us seeing it and recognizing it. Which doesn't exactly make sense, you know?"

Gaius studied him. "Arthur is correct in thinking that such an object would complicate the issues between Camelot and Albion," he said. "He has rather enough to do to terminate any talk of a merger, convince the company that you will not become an asset of theirs, without having to negotiate the terms of purchase for the weapon – if indeed the corporation would consider any offer."

"Exactly!" Merlin said. "It's an incredible bargaining chip – why would they try to keep it hidden from the one man who could authenticate it?" He jumped down from the table and began to pace again. He'd dreamed more than once of Arthur and swords – _the_ sword, in an opponent's hand. Arthur wounded, and by a dragon-breathed blade. "If it is his," he said, "we must get it back. I was told, in the wrong hands it could do great evil."

"I agree with you," Gaius said. "If it is in fact the same blade. But Arthur doesn't see it that way, does he?"

Merlin shook his head slowly, at each step, his eyes on the carpet. "He said, _it's just a sword_. It was forged for Arthur and him alone – Gaius, I _promised_. I failed that promise once. I can't fail again."

Gaius said perceptively, "You two have quarreled over more than possession of the sword, haven't you?"

Merlin gave a cynical chuckle, and turned at the refrigerator to cross the room again. "Arthur believes that my desire to reclaim that sword is not an ends but a means," he said.

"Ah," Gaius said. "Freya."

"Yeah," Merlin said feelingly. "It's like he sees it as a choice between them – whether I _obey_ his _order_ to forget about the sword for now, or keep pushing for the chance at returning memories allowing her to accept me for who I am." He reached the hallway and turned back.

"It's not a choice between them," Gaius stated.

"Damn right it's not!" Merlin exclaimed.

"Though you do seem to be walking something of a line between them," Gaius continued.

"You know very well what happened when I made it a choice, before," Merlin said darkly, glaring at his grandfather. "Destiny made damn sure I stayed with Arthur, remember? I lost my chance at a wife and family and a normal life, and I just thought – well, I kind of hoped I was going to get to have both, this time." There was a moment of silence in which he didn't look at the old man, until Gaius spoke.

"What will you do if she doesn't remember?"

"Ever?" Merlin shook his head, biting a fingernail as he strode the length of the room again. "I can't believe that. Why would she be returned, along with all of us, only to live like – like Thomas Drake – in complete denial?"

"Merlin," Gaius said, "your assumption about Arthur's sword helping Freya's memory depends on two things – first, that the weapon in question is genuine, and second, that you are able to expose her to it – and neither of those is a sure thing."

"Well – I'm fairly desperate, Gaius," he admitted, kicking at the base of the kitchen counter.

"Glastonbury," Gaius said, and then Merlin did look at his grandfather, coming around the couch to face him. "The lake where the Artorius Blade was retrieved. If it is not the lake of Avalon, you will know that the sword is ordinary. But if it is, might not the lake itself prove a stronger influence on Freya's subconscious than the sword?"

Merlin fumbled at the back of one of the dining chairs and pulled it out to collapse into. "You mean, take her there?" he said.

"Such a trip has the virtue of being completely legal, as well as putting some temporary distance between you and Arthur, placing you and Freya in each other's company all day for several days, as well as indicating the sword's authenticity." His grandfather seemed quite proud of the suggestion, and Merlin himself could admit those possible advantages, and, actually, no flaws, unless it were –

"She wasn't very happy with me when she guessed we'd gone to the museum to check out the sword," Merlin said. "If she realizes I've got ulterior motives for whisking her away on a romantic trip to England, she'll be _pissed_."

"My boy," Gaius said, giving him a look over his half-glasses, "after all you have faced in your previous lifetime and this, an angry female should be a treat to handle."  
"Angry females," Merlin observed, "are only a treat to handle if they can be persuaded to make up."

"Merlin," Gaius said, shaking his head though there was a twinkle in his eye, "Too much information."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin managed to coordinate the trip in three days. He bribed Cassie to make sure Freya's passport was up-to-date – it was, thanks to her sister's wedding in Cancun the summer they'd met – and to pack her a suitcase of clothes appropriate for April in England. He pled his case with her employer and gained extra days off with no penalty for her.

Then he knocked on her door with the plane tickets. She was startled, she was skeptical, she was overwhelmed. She squealed, "_Merlin_!" when she saw "Heathrow". He was pleased not only that she'd inadvertently used his 'real' nickname, but that the nature of the surprise meant she didn't analyze his motives or the destination.

"You're very brave," she said, as they settled into the middle row of seats on the transatlantic flight, the craft twice as wide as the one they'd taken cross-country. "To get on a plane again so soon."

He tapped the toes of his boots against the laptop in its canvas case under the seat in front of him, thinking of the sleepless night he'd spent with a dual purpose – to perform his own background checks on every passenger on the manifest and to thoroughly exhaust himself so he would sleep for a good chunk of the flight time.

"I believe in destiny," he said.

She snickered a little and elbowed him. "I just hope it's not time to go for anyone on this flight."

"It's time for all of us to _go_," he told her, checking his watch. "And don't even say the 'D' word."

She attached the cord of a set of earphones to the side of the armrest, which carried a selection of music, and closed her eyes during the safety briefing.

So did Merlin, linking his setting with hers, curious to see what might play.

Patty Loveless. Old country. _So darlin' meet me – high… on a hill north of nowhere… We head west to a dream south of somewhere… We can steal a little magic and make it our own…. at the rainbow down the road_… Who was the male vocalist for the duet? He couldn't remember.

8:30 pm. Wheels up. Ears trying to stabilize pressure even with the music sifting in. Freya's hand finding his and curling up inside. _Hide your feelings… hide your heart… you can hide the fire, but you can't hide the spark… the deck is stacked and you can't fool destiny long…_

Her head comfortable against his shoulder, her hair loose and tumbled on his shirt sleeve, smelling of roses. _For every long shot… there's a sure one… for every heartache, there's a true love… You can bet on the one that's standing right here_…

_Please don't be angry_, he thought as he dropped his check to rest on the softness of her hair, inhale the scent that was more than her shampoo, that was _her_. _When you find out why, please don't be angry_…

_They say that, love is foolish… I should know… I'm the kinda fool that never lets go… Just follow your heart and I'll be waiting right there…_ Merlin drifted to sleep.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Jet lag," Freya said, "can be minimized by forcing your body to accept the local time, no matter what you feel like."

Merlin yawned and stumbled behind her through customs, carrying both of their bags, one over each shoulder so the weight balanced out. "So what's local time again?"

"Almost one o'clock," she said.

He squinted up at the fluorescent lights in the airport. "Am or pm?"

She laughed like he'd told a good joke. "We left at 8:30 pm D.C. time," she said. "We flew eleven hours through the night, and gained five more with the time difference. You following me?"

"Of course," he said, shuffling forward in line. How could she manage to fly all night – and all morning, evidently – and still be so fresh and pretty? He was sure he resembled Gwaine on a weekend morning.

"Do you want to eat lunch here at the airport or out in the city somewhere?" she said, and grinned at him over her shoulder. "Fish and chips?" He rolled his eyes and groaned in response, but ended by grinning back.

For the first night, he had them in a decently-priced, decently-reviewed hotel in London. The second and third nights they would spend in Bristol, before returning to London for their flight home. He was quite content to let her fill in the itinerary, planning on getting a little lost on a drive in the countryside, about thirty miles south of Bristol. Glastonbury. Perhaps they could have a picnic lunch on the shore of the lake…

He blinked and steadied himself against a sudden surreal dizziness. That was just jet lag.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin followed Freya willingly around St. Paul's, and Trafalgar Square.

The next morning, he took a wrong turn in the heart of London, ending up on the M3 instead of the M4, blaming it on the confusion of trying to drive safely on the opposite side of the road than what he was used to.

"Damn colonist," Freya teased him, in her rendition of a London accent.

He laughed and shook his head, trying to keep the confusion of emotions from showing. _I am more British than – well, just about everyone_. We _are_. An echo of Arthur's words flitted through his mind – _maybe not anymore_.

Once out of the buildings and traffic and signs of the city outskirts, Freya reached to put one of her cds into the rental car's stereo system, and sat back to watch the scenery through the windows. Merlin cringed mentally at her choice – the City of Angels soundtrack – and not only because of his inherent male aversion to "chick flicks". This was a movie about a man with a secret identity, struggling to tell the woman he loved who he was.

_ It was only one hour ago… it was all so different then… There's nothing yet has really sunk in… Looks like it always did… _

And then, once he'd told her, once she'd believed him, once he'd chosen to leave his status and skills and become an ordinary human for her, she'd been taken from him. _I grieve… for you… You leave… me_… He shivered and tried to concentrate on his driving. _So hard to move on… still loving what's gone… _

The route had the benefit – if it could be called a benefit, after all the roundabouts they had to circle through – of taking them through Glastonbury, north to Bristol. Merlin drove slowly; he couldn't help searching the scenery for any hint, any glimmer, of anything familiar. _ They say life carries on… life carries on, and on, and on…_

Fifteen centuries, he told himself. Trees can change a landscape in one. Hills rise over centers of civilization as structures are built and rebuilt, hills are worn down by time, valleys filled in. Civilization had done its share, too, with buildings and roads and railways.

_ It's just the car that we ride in… A home we reside in… The face that we hide in… the way we are tied in… _

He recognized nothing. Not a twitch, not a suspicion of familiarity. It was like visiting Spokane and being told it was Seattle.

_ Did I dream this belief? Or did I believe this dream?_

He was glad to reach Bristol and surround himself with the 21st century again, steel and glass and concrete.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin sat alone in the dark. Though it was past dawn and he faced the window, the sky was overcast and the blinds were drawn. The screen of his laptop on the small table in the hotel room had gone black some time since.

It had begun as a simple exercise of curiosity, something to do while he was too unsettled to sleep. Having located the lake on the map, it was a matter of charting distances and directions, remembering and approximating.

And then, double- and triple-checking.

The idea had come to him, if the lake helped Freya or not, it would be worth doing while they were here, to visit Camelot also – the citadel of white stone obviously no longer standing, the vaults cleared and treasures scattered, perhaps even the cavern of Kilgarrah's imprisonment filled in. Or the Crystal Cave. As ambiguous as he felt about the place, the valley of the fallen kings, he figured that or the grove of Breneved had the greatest chance of any place he'd been familiar with, of surviving to the present day, in any form.

_ Let it out and move on… still missing what's gone…_

As near as he could figure it, Camelot was covered now by a residential district, grand old homes and grand old trees. And a golf course.

And if his calculations weren't wildly off, the valley and the cave lay hundreds of feet below barley fields and a dairy farm.

Merlin sat on the edge of the bed he hadn't even turned down – napping once or twice fully dressed atop the coverlet – head in his hands, eyes shut.

The Bristol Post had done several articles over the course of its circulation on that small region, its unusual fertility and the modest yet undeniable success of its many owners over the years. The latest one had been quoted as calling it, "a right nice piece of ground."

Helldamnfire. The birthplace of magic itself – a right nice piece of ground.

What had happened? What the hell had happened? Through the ages, the writings had faded, the books had been lost, the teachings neglected, the adepts put to death by the fanatically suspicious. Magic was all but gone. Magic was all but gone.

He hadn't even made the calculations for Breneved.

What was destiny then? Here he was – Merlin, the greatest damn sorcerer to ever wonder what the hell was in store for him. To protect Arthur, to support and guide and aid him – not only for what he could do, as king, but for who he was, as a man and a friend. And now? A company, even one that provided protection and security for individuals and businesses alike? A consulting team for the National Security Agency, preventing terrorist attacks, saving a number of people merely a drop in the ocean of the billions that had lived and died – of old age, of disease, of violence – through the centuries?

Was it enough?

He didn't hear the door behind him, but sensed Freya's presence as soon as she climbed onto the bed, scooting across the smooth coverlet to cuddle close behind him, her knees on either side of his hips, her arms encircling his ribs, her head laid down on his shoulder.

"How long have you been up?" she asked, her breath making a warm patch on his shirt, just over his spine.

"A while," he said, his voice throaty from lack of sleep and tension. He glanced at the clock. 6:52. "You're up early. We're five hours ahead – it's only ten to two in the morning, at home."

She leaned back from him, began to rub his shoulders. His muscles relaxed in response, enjoying her touch as she soothed out the tension in his neck and back.

Then she said, "I had a nightmare."

She sounded calm, matter-of-fact, and her hands were steady and sure, her thumbs rubbing circles to either side of the vertebrae in his neck. "I should've done this last night," she added. "You were so tense, you hardly said a word. Do you have a headache? You're enjoying the trip, aren't you?"

"I always enjoy being with you," Merlin told her sincerely, his voice somewhat muffled by the front of his own shirt, so far had he let his head hang down. She was rolling her fists in his lower back now – ah, _heaven_. "What was your dream?"

"Oh, one of those stupid dying dreams," she said. "I don't know if I was sick or hurt or what, but you were holding me in your arms, and we were on the shore of a lake and it was raining, kind of. Nothing hurt, but I could tell that I was dying, it was a little like knowing that you're falling asleep. Don't straighten up like that, it's going to hurt your muscles if you're all tense while I'm doing this."

"Sorry." Merlin managed to calm his reaction. "Go on. Like falling asleep."

"It felt very peaceful, actually, I wasn't afraid at all. What made it a nightmare was the look on your face." Her hands stilled their movement, strayed lightly to his shoulder blades. "I don't think," she added, "that I've ever seen you cry, before. You looked – heartbroken. You were apologizing, and I couldn't figure, because you had nothing to be sorry for. And then I wanted to stay, to come back, to –"

His ipod, connected to the laptop, lit up and activated the computer's speakers. _If I could turn back time… if I could find a way_…

She smacked him lightly on the back of the head, and he concentrated on muting both devices simultaneously. "I'm being serious," she scolded.

"Sorry," he whispered. _I didn't mean to… ye gods, so very serious_…

"You said, you wanted to save me." Her hands smoothed down his sleeves, gently but absent-mindedly.

He blinked rapidly, until the tears threatening had subsided. Then he stood and turned, drawing her up on her knees, right to the very edge of the bed, so he could hold her close and tight.

"Mm," she said, nuzzling her face into his neck and kissing him there twice. "You do always make me feel so loved." She squeezed him back, but briefly, and he could hardly bear to let her go when she drew back.

"Freya…" he started, but had no words. He'd promised, after all, not to start this conversation again. Damn promises.

"Come on," she said. "Take a shower and change your clothes. We'll have breakfast and go sight-seeing."

To find the exact location of the lake, Merlin had revisited the news reports and specials of the mid-90's, when the discovery of the Artorius Blade had been fairly big news – especially to the local community - the interest tapering off after experts could not agree on a date of origin or commit to even a guesstimated ownership. And as it had been over twenty years since, it no longer drew the tourist traffic that the town of Glastonbury, the Tor, or other surrounding sites did.

That was good, Merlin told himself. A nice little town – the tourist season had not started in earnest yet, and the festival wasn't until the end of June – and a nice little lake. And the whole area was so loaded with Arthurian references that Freya could not accuse him of intentionally chasing the rumor of a legend. He hoped fervently that she would remember without realizing it – dream the memory, in fact – rather than having her anger at his duplicity block her acceptance.

And, hellfire, what was his plan if she remembered _everything_? The people the black beast had murdered, the pain of the transformation, the despair of running, hiding, capture. Death at Arthur's hands.

It was a good thing he had Gaius on speed-dial.

They stopped at a café down the street for small crusty rolls of bread, some smoked white cheddar cheese, sliced sausage and cold roast chicken, fruit and flavored water in bottles.

Then he drove – slowly, again – to the lake. Freya changed out the cd for another soundtrack. Grosse Pointe Blank – Merlin groaned to himself. _When tragedy befalls you… don't let it drag you down…_ Yet another story of a man hiding a dark secret concerning his identity, bringing the danger of his job home to the girl he loved. _Love can cure your problems… you're so lucky I'm around_…

_ Let my love open the door…. it's all I'm living for… Release yourself from misery… there's only one thing gonna set you free… that's my love. That's my love._

He made sure to approach through the town, first, find a place to leave the car, parked and locked, and carried their picnic lunch and the extra blanket borrowed from the top shelf in the closet of the hotel room.

"Are we going to hike up the Tor?" Freya asked. "They say the view is great."

"Maybe later," he said. They sauntered down the paved road, Freya hugging his arm.

"Do you have someplace in mind?" she said eventually. "You've never been here before, have you?"

"Wish we had some horses," he said. He felt odd, emotionally dizzy. Like seeing the name of a living loved one on a weathered gravestone in some random cemetery.

"You've never ridden a horse in your life," she laughed, slipping her hand down to his to tug at it playfully. Then she cocked her head. "Have you?"

_Have the horses ready at first light. Go muck the stables. Looking for something missing – I don't know, the horses! You need to feed the horses first. Not without horses – we can't, it's too late_. "Not," Merlin swallowed hard and struggled to keep his voice light, "in this lifetime."

His heart thundered as they walked, making it hard to breathe, so high was he on expectation he could not define, even to himself, followed immediately by the crashing low of melancholy nostalgia. Take her to the lake, it sounded so easy.

He hadn't counted on the effect it would have on himself, how many of his own memories were centered here. His feet stopped of their own accord, and a little eerie shiver ran up his spine. Then he turned and looked.

"Are you okay?" Freya said.

The tree-line to their left had broken, revealing the placid silver surface of the water, a couple-yards narrow verge of lawn going right down to the lazy ripples. No sand, just sloping grassy bank. He lifted his eyes – the island, slightly hazy with mist – the nigh-indiscernible mound of rubble marking the base of the tower.

It had been a slightly different approach, possibly further to the south, where he'd seen his first Sidhe. Where he'd killed twice in a matter of heartbeats, scrambled out into the water that pulled so agonizingly slowly against his hurry, diving down into the murk, and again, dragging Arthur back up to light and air. There that he'd first flung the sword – Calesvol, Caliburn, _Excalibur_, then – at the great dragon's insistence that no hand but Arthur's wield it. _Where no mortal man can ever find it_… unless the lake had been left unguarded.

"What's wrong? What is it?" Freya asked, catching the bag of their intended picnic as he raised his hand to cover the tattoo on his shoulder, hidden by his shirt.

There, there he'd held her. It was a shock to feel her now, not limp and breathless in his arms, but standing beside him, arguably stronger that moment than he was.

There Lancelot… and _here_, Arthur.

The memory hit him as if it had happened yesterday. He found himself in foot-deep lake water, Freya's voice a muffled alarm from the grassy bank. There was no boat beside him – no Arthur laid out, cold and still – his hands and arms felt empty, like he'd lost something, and he turned as if maybe the boat was behind him. But he had sent it on, hadn't he, out into the water – _don't go where I cannot follow_!

His heart cried in an anguish that tore through his throat, and he fell to his knees in the water, feeling the rough pebbles grind and shift under his hands. No! Arthur was alive – with Gwen – with their son, alive and well. _Don't cry, young lovers… forget these wide-eyed fears… bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow – there'll be sun_…

"Please," she said, from behind him. "Please come out? You're soaking wet, you'll catch cold." Her voice was deliberately soft and gentle, cautious. He was frightening her, maybe.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, reaching out through the water – the antithesis of fire, which he'd always controlled so naturally, yet still part of the magic that filled him – and found nothing. Lake water. Precipitation – evaporation – condensation.

No Sidhe, not even a trace of their ancient, powerful magic. Not a glimmer of the blade into which Kilgarrah had poured a dragon's power and magic. It was not here. It was indeed gone.

"Please?" Freya said again, and some desperation entered her voice. "You shouldn't be in the water."

He shuddered as he pushed himself upright. He turned, water dripping from his fingertips, his sleeves and the legs of his jeans cold and clammy. "Join me?" he suggested, as calmly as he could, as if his actions were completely normal. "Just for a minute? Take off your shoes and socks, roll up your pants."

She looked at him uncertainly. "The water's freezing, isn't it?" she said. He didn't answer, just held out his hand. "Will you promise to come out again, if I do?"

"I promise," he said. _There must be something I can do – some way to save you!_

Still she hesitated, their picnic in her arms, her eyes darting here and there on the landscape behind him – lake, trees, island. Then she gave him a dainty grimace and sat down, releasing her armful to the ground beside her. She tucked her socks neatly into her shoes and folded her jeans awkwardly up to her knees. Her skin looked pale in the chill of the cloudy day, her dark red toenail polish endearingly absurd.

Then she stepped in. Her eyes widened and she gasped – his spirit soared.

But only for an instant. "Oh my _gosh_ it's frigid!" she said, wading unsteadily to him. "This would be much more romantic in July, I think. There now, are you happy –" She faltered, meeting his eyes.

He let out the breath he'd been holding. He wanted very much to spread out his arms and let gravity pull him backwards, let the water take him down. It would be a relief from what he was feeling.

_Now I've brought the lady back to her lake, and – what? What? Damn it to hell. Damn it all to f-_

"Marvin," she said, and the pang that shot through every nerve at her voice saying the wrong name made him gasp. "What is it? What's wrong? Please tell me – I can see you're in pain."

"You wouldn't understand," he said, as gently as possible, his heart clenched like a fist in his chest. He thought he mostly kept his expression from betraying his true feelings. For her sake.

"Is it your feet?" she said, looking down at the ripples around their legs. "This water is so cold it hurts –"

"It's not my damn feet," he told her. If he thought it would do any good, he'd tackle her and submerge them both til their lungs were bursting for air, but… He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek. "I love you," he said. "No matter what else, I hope you always believe that."

She waded a step closer, pressed herself to him as she stretched up for a kiss. "If you love me," she said, "get out of the lake." She smiled, but there was still worry behind her eyes. When they stepped up onto the grass, she cast an apprehensive look at the water as she sat to pull her socks back on. "What was that, a panic attack?" she asked.

He picked up their bagged picnic mechanically. "Something like that," he said.

"Has that ever happened to you before?" He pulled her to her feet and helped her balance as she stepped into her shoes.

"Once. About two weeks after I came to D.C. from Seattle."

"Let's go back to the car," she proposed. "Turn on the heater and get dried off. Maybe there's a shop in town where you can get some dry clothes."

**A/N: Information on the exhibit comes from Arthurianadventure**_**dot**_**com. And again, I'm no historian, I don't support one area over another as the actual location for Camelot or Avalon, I'm just going with one possible option from Wikipedia… **

**I remembered a reviewer mentioning a possibility of visiting the lake as a way of bringing Freya back – I decided to do that by a fountain in the mall in part 1 (Once and Future Destiny), but the image stuck in my head, which resulted in this chapter. I went back to check so I could credit the reviewer, but it was an anonymous guest… but thanks to everyone who voted in that first fic to bring Freya back! This story would not be half as good without her… **

**PS. A big fat apology for those who may be a heck of a lot more familiar with this area than I am! If there are any glaring errors, please PM me and I'll try to fix it. **

**Another apology – sorry this is a little later than usual for me, I found I had to rework one of the sections completely, which lost me a day's writing.**

**And (sorry for the long A/N, a third apology!) some dialogue from ep.1.9 "Excalibur" and 2.9 "The Lady of the Lake."**


	12. Mix-and-Matched

**Chapter 12: Mix-and-Matched**

Merlin was on his best _no-really-I'm-fine_ behavior the rest of the day, cheerfully cooperating with her plans for shopping and wandering about Bristol.

But by 7:00 that night he was exhausted, physically and emotionally. Freya had been quiet since their early dinner, and it was she who suggested retiring to their separate rooms.

Alone, Merlin collapsed into the chair by the table, idly opening the laptop. It was still 2:00 in the afternoon, still working hours in D.C. He logged into his Camelot account, scanned through various messages from the knights to the Round Table group – Percival had taken Ray and Jason to Philadelphia, where the downed Maine flight had originated, but were coming up against all dead ends. All they could say for sure was that it felt more professional than a date-rape scenario. Leon was healing, Gwaine and Elyan holding down the fort at Camelot headquarters.

He keyed to send a message, only to Arthur, and found it harder to write than he'd anticipated. Dear Arthur. Hey, Arthur. Or just Hey. Been thinking about you – all? You plural? Y'all? Everyone there – you guys.

_Hey_, he typed. _Been doing some thinking. Don't know if I ever actually said I was sorry about giving you a hard time, before I remembered. Or while the memories were scrambled. I know it couldn't have been easy to handle. Want you to know I appreciate it. Be back to work Tuesday latest. Say hi to Gwen and baby_. He left it unsigned, knowing that his identifying tag would accompany the message anyway.

He sat back in the chair, elbow on the arm of it and his head in his hand. He was so tired that when he closed his eyes, it felt like the world was revolving slowly around him, tilting like a slow-turning top. It wasn't ten minutes before the computer chimed the incoming message alarm, and Arthur's response was in his inbox.

_ Friends don't let friends forget. Take care of you and your lady. See you Tues. PS. Andrew says hi. PS. This is me punching your arm and knuckling your head at the same time._

Merlin opened the attachment. Arthur was no artist, but he'd scribbled a passable cartoon of a stick figure with wildly scribbled hair, next to one with large round muscles, a crown on his head, and what appeared to be three arms. And yes, simultaneously punching Merlin's stick arm and rubbing his scribbled hair.

He couldn't help grinning, and wrote back, _Now I feel better. Except for the bruises._

Arthur responded immediately. _Whiner. Get some sleep_.

Merlin closed the laptop. He was glad Arthur hadn't asked about Freya; he had a suspicion his friend had probably figured things hadn't gone well.

He brushed his teeth and changed into the old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants that he slept in. Leaving the blinds open so he could look out at whatever starlight made it through the glow from the city lights, he crawled between the sheets and fell asleep almost immediately.

It felt like the early hours, and a sound sleep interrupted, when his senses alerted him to the door opening. Groggy as he was, he still identified the sound as coming from the door between his room and Freya's, rather than the locked exterior door, and he didn't immediately react.

Moments passed without further sound as his attention focused, drawing him completely out of his slumber, but she was definitely inside his room. He kept himself still, allowing her to decide what she would do without interference, but his pulse hammered with instinctive anticipation.

He had no warning as she crossed the carpet noiselessly, but his startled twitch was covered by the slight jostle of the mattress as she slipped beneath the covers on the other side of the bed. He could tell from her slow, smooth movement that she was trying _not_ to wake him, so he held the attitude of deep slumber.

Another long moment passed. He began to wonder if she wanted him to wake after all, to discover her in his bed, to take the initiative – and then she slid over next to him, shy as a wild creature, almost stealthily positioning her hips behind his, legs bent at the same angle to follow his, her body nestling against his back, her cheek resting on his shoulder blade.

But her arms, instead of sneaking around him to embrace or caress, were instead tucked between them, hugged to her chest. A barrier. She took a deep, quiet breath.

Then Freya began to cry. Almost inaudibly. He sensed deep sorrow under tight control, and wanted to roll over and gather her into his arms, soothe and kiss and comfort.

But something told him, that was not what she wanted. She needed to have her cry out with privacy, but at the same time, she didn't want to be truly alone. She wanted the comfort of his presence, without the disruption of his awareness. She wanted a sleeping shoulder to cry on.

He focused on breathing evenly, though every little shuddering breath she took sending a splinter of commiseration through his chest. She wiped her eyes surreptitiously on the back of his shirt, on the pillowcase she was sharing with him, sniffled quietly. And cried some more.

The clock was on the bedside stand on her side of the bed, which they were both facing away from; he couldn't see the time, but it was quite a long while before Freya exhausted herself and her tears and stilled into slumber.

From the open doorway into Freya's room came the sound of her music, maybe something she'd been listening to, and had fallen asleep without turning it off. _I did not believe, because I could not see… though you came to me in the night… _

Carefully – it was his turn to try not to wake _her_ – Merlin shifted his position, stuffing one arm under the pillow under his head so he could ease close enough to tuck the other around her. _When the dawn seemed forever lost… you showed me your love, in the light of the stars… _

He kissed her forehead and inhaled the scent of her hair. _Cast your eyes on the ocean… cast your soul to the sea… when the dark night seems endless… please remember me…_

Then he fell asleep, too.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

In the morning Merlin woke sprawled on his back, weak sunlight diffusing the darkness of the room. Someone was petting him, combing then smoothing his hair, lightly stroking fingertips over his eyebrow ridge, over his cheekbones, over his jaw-line.

"Mm," he growled, stretching. The hand moved to his chest, pressing flat as if to feel his heartbeat, and he squinted up at Freya, who studied him with a serious expression.

Her elbow had dented the pillow up toward the headboard, and she rested her temple on her fist, her body conforming to his underneath the covers, all the way down to her toes absently rubbing the side of his calf. He pulled his arm out from between them to cover her hand with his atop his chest, and rubbed his eyes with the other.

"Hey," she said finally.

"Hey," he responded, his voice rough from sleep. He cleared his throat before trying again. "You okay?"

"I had more dreams," she said.

He waited, but when she didn't elaborate, he ventured, "About what?"

"About you," she said. "About –" She shivered. "I want you to swear to me, you have done nothing to me. No mind-reading, or, or sending subconscious messages."

Telepathy. He didn't correct her; it was not a talent he'd expected to use in this lifetime, and he never had with her, anyway. "I swear, I've done nothing to you," he said.

"Is it this place, then?" she said. "King Arthur this and King Arthur that – have you been having dreams, too?"

"Tell me," he suggested, finding that his mouth was dry, and it had nothing to do with just waking up.

"I dreamed of you. You were sitting in a dark cave and you looked – tired, and discouraged, and… and _grim_. Don't laugh at me."

"I'm not," he said, pressing her hand over his heart.

"It was like I was seeing you through a window – like it was raining and I was on the outside, only I was still dry…" She frowned toward the window, then shook her head. "It was like it picked up from my dying dream two nights ago – I was so happy to see you again, because I was dead, and you weren't. And you – I don't think you believed your eyes, at first. You said, is it really you?"

_Is it,_ he thought dazedly, _really you_? He focused on breathing, focused on how her body felt, next to him in the bed.

"It felt like I had to hurry to talk to you," she went on. "It felt like I'd been given this wonderful gift, to see you again even though I was dead." She made a face. "But I had to rip it right open as fast as I could, or else it would disappear. I knew you needed help, you needed something – _desperately_, you and… Arthur." Her lips twisted. "Now it seems _I'm_ dreaming of Arthur Drake as – never mind."

"What –" he cleared his throat again. "What did I need?"

She looked at him, at each separate part of his face as if seeing him for the first time. "Why do I get the feeling that you already know?" she said.

He closed his eyes and swallowed. "Do you want me to tell you?" he whispered. He could see it so clearly, the way he'd seen it first, hovering in the air between himself and Kilgarrah – could she, too? _A blade forged in the dragon's breath_.

"Is insanity catching?" She laughed softly, bitterly. "I dreamed I was in the lake, down below the surface only I wasn't drowning, just floating or swimming, just existing. Waiting. Waiting for you to come for the – I saw the boat, from underneath, saw your face all blurry like that rainy window again – the great _hope_ in your eyes for what I might give you."

He opened his eyes. Tears were shining in hers. He realized that he was clenching a fist's worth of the sheet in his free hand, and released it, smoothing it down.

"I waited," she said. "I waited, and somehow – even though I wanted to see you again, I hoped it would be a long time…"

_So did I_, he thought tiredly, rubbing away the moisture from his eyes.

"You came again to the lake," she continued, "and then it was a nightmare, the same as two nights ago. You had lost someone, again, someone had died in your arms – _again - _ someone you loved. Your closest friend…" Her voice trailed away. "You still feel it, don't you?" she said. "You know exactly what I'm talking about – and _who_. Is that what you were – was that what yesterday was about? That – panic attack?"

"Yes," he managed.

Her brown eyes narrowed. "Is it possible that you – passed your dreams on to me?"

"No." He transferred his gaze to the ceiling. "If it was my dreams you were seeing, it would be as if you were me, looking at yourself."

"So I dreamed myself right into your world," she said. "Arthur and Guinevere and the knights of the Round Table? The Grail and Excalibur? And I'm the Lady of the Lake?"

"_My_ lady," he said softly, and she met his eyes, her expression at once guarded and amazed.

"I understand," she said. "If you all had such vivid dreams, why…" She stopped and cocked her head. "But I always thought he was an old man," she said in confusion.

He shifted on the pillow to face her. "Say my name," he told her softly. "You know it. Say it." She used to say it, when she thought it an amusingly appropriate nickname. And now…

She put her lips together, then hesitated, staring into his eyes in apprehensive fascination. "Merlin," she said, and then again. "_Merlin_?"

"Yes." Once again, he wanted to stretch out his arms and just float away – but this time from sheer satisfied bliss.

She laughed softly. "It's incredible. You know that, don't you."

Incredible. But not _impossible_, like she'd said before. He wanted to ask, _Do you believe me, then_? He wanted to ask, _Do you still think I'm crazy_? But he didn't dare.

"Arthur. And Excalibur," she said. She moved her right hand out from under her head, where she could see her palm, as if she could still feel the gold-wire-wrapped leather hilt.

"It was beautiful, wasn't it?" he said. "The way the light hit the edge –"

She disentangled her other hand from his to lay her fingers over his lips. "No, don't say," she said. "I know you think that sword – the Artorius Blade – is Excalibur. I know you believed that lake we were at yesterday was – _the_ lake, but –"

"Do you want to go back?" he asked, not sure whether that prospect filled him with anticipation or dread.

"No." She shook her head decisively. "I – understand why you believe, but… I need a little time." She leaned a little closer. "You don't mind, do you, Merlin?"

He didn't. She could take as long as she needed, as long as she said his name like that. He couldn't help smiling, and she shook her head at him as if she could now read his mind.

Once again, his ipod hooked into his computer teased music out through the laptop speakers. _Do you believe in magic… in a young girl's heart… How the music can free her… whenever it starts_…

"_Merlin_," she whispered again. And something else came into her eyes, as her gaze dropped to his mouth. _I'll tell you about the magic, and it'll free your soul_… She relaxed against him, and he dared lift his free hand to thread his fingers through her long curly hair.

"You're so ridiculous," she said, referring to the 60's song he'd chosen.

"I've been told." He grinned. _Just go and listen… it'll start with a smile… It won't wipe off your face no matter how hard you try_…

She kissed him gently, twice, then a third more lingering. _And we'll go dancing, baby, then you'll see… how the magic's in the music… and the music's in me_…

She laughed against his lips, then scooted lower to tuck her head under his chin, hook one of her legs around his. "Merlin," she said experimentally. _Do you believe, like I believe?_

"Yes," he said, amused. _Do you believe in magic?_

"It's so _weird_." _Do you believe, believer?_

He laughed right out loud. "Love," he told her, "you have no idea."

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur sat on the couch in the living room, his computer balanced on his lap. On the cushion next to him was spread a mint-green receiving blanket with tiny white dots. On the blanket, his infant son, on his belly with his knees tucked under himself and his diaper-padded bottom hiked in the air. His head, covered with soft coffee-colored fuzz, was turned to the side, his eyes shut and his mouth slightly open as he slept. Arthur's left hand, larger than Andrew's back, had been occupied with patting and rubbing the baby to sleep and now his whole arm felt sore.

He stretched the muscles, once again examining his fingers, the pink lines where the flesh had burst open and the shards of bones had torn through, almost fully healed. Gaius himself had taken the out the stitches Merlin's second round of healing magic had rendered unnecessary. There was a spot next to his middle knuckle where he'd lost sensation and it was hard to curl his pinkie finger completely, but other than a stiff tenderness when he typed, there were no other lingering ill effects of his injury. A team of surgeons with multiple surgeries might not be able to do as much as that boy in a matter of minutes.

He remembered Gaius saying, only a few days after he'd met a Merlin who showed no recognition of him, that Merlin couldn't access even a fraction of his power. And now this. _All your magic, Merlin, and you can't save my life_.

_But you sure as hell can save my _hand. _How do you say thank you for something like that? _ Just one more thing he'd never be able to repay Merlin for. But that wasn't what friendship was about, keeping track what was owed. It was just that Merlin gave so much, all the time.

Arthur wished, idly, that there was some magic to make Halbyon, its hovering threat and ominous CEO, disappear also. _Leave me alone. Leave my friend alone_.

He couldn't help thinking, if the training and handling of the department of specially-talented psychics and telepathics and telekinetics was all honest and aboveboard, why hide it so completely? Why distance the department so absolutely from the rest of the company?

His computer screen flickered as the page reset itself, and a new message showed in his inbox, from Agent Gibson Chance.

_ Your phone is off?_

He typed back, smiling, _My son is asleep_.

_ Congratulations. New info on Norfolk flight. Three passengers with links to Halbyon – two in current jobs for other companies, and one with a several-years' old referral. No abnormal results for drug tests or ligature marks on these or any bodies examined after the crash. The case file has been officially closed, cause of accident given as equipment failure. Unless your men in Philadelphia uncover something new, the investigation into the Maine flight will be closed also._

Having read Percival's latest update, Arthur figured it wouldn't be long. They'd picked up several leads, all of which had led to nothing. His three men were scheduled to be back in Camelot next week.

_ Your Denver-Dulles flight is being given only a cursory examination, ascertaining that no one was at fault, ground- or flight-crew, either directly or through negligence, due to the fact that there were no casualties._

_ I will maintain protective custody for Shane Littlefield. His testimony, while unchanging, is also highly implausible, to anyone not familiar with certain sensitive details. Without corroborating witness or physical evidence, no case can be brought against Halbyon at this time._

Arthur typed a single-word response, _Understood_.

Chance's reply carried a shift toward a more personal tone in his written word. _Arthur, please consider all options when handling threats from this corporation. A public trial could get very messy and prove highly detrimental to the reputations of several of your key employees – your team, in other words. A large part of your effectiveness is your anonymity. Your agency credentials give you some leeway, but only some. I know I can depend on you to be circumspect._

_ Of course_, Arthur typed back. _Thank you for your reminder, and your warning. Have you been in contact with Wendy Doran? _ Perhaps she might be able to give corroborating testimony.

The reply arrived after a long delay, and Arthur suspected the agent had paused after the introductory words _I have_. He wondered again what relationship there might be between the two.

_ Earlier today, as a matter of fact. She seemed genuinely surprised and concerned at the news of your flight going down, and at my suggestion of a subsequent investigation aimed at Halbyon's questionable ethics in regard to their department of extra-naturals._

_ She requested me to convey to you personally her apologies for offending you during lunch three weeks ago. She still believes you to be King Arthur, and she seems to think that her eagerness was the offending factor. She has asked me about the possibility of arranging another meeting._

It was Arthur's turn to delay a response.

Beside him on the couch, Andrew squirmed, rubbing his face against the blanket, before turning in the other direction. And pushing his little legs straight. One of his tiny blue socks was hanging off his heel, but Arthur feared to disturb him by pulling it tight, so he smoothed the wrinkles in the blanket so there were no obstructions by his face, then tucked the tail of the blanket lightly over his son's lower half.

Meet with Wendy Doran. He chewed his lip, considering. She was either naively innocent or deeply cunning. If it was the former, he could possibly gain more information before his meeting next week with various dignitaries controlling the company.

If it was the latter, maybe it was time to take the gloves off. As Merlin had said, taking down a passenger jet with two hundred innocent people aboard was something more than a warning shot.

This was the company, after all, that had provided Mordred to Xander. Wendy had investigated, had been friendly with Jan Steffan and familiar with her 'research'. Now that Arthur would not be taken by surprise, perhaps he could get more information from her on those connections and circumstances.

He messaged back, _Meeting with Halbyon Wednesday morning. Can do Monday lunch? offsite._

Andrew squirmed again, working his fist up beside his face, then beginning to suck on his knuckles before subsiding back into sleep for a moment. "Again? Already, buddy?" Arthur questioned him softly, affectionately.

Gwen wandered out from their bedroom, wearing Arthur's sweats, covering a yawn. "Let me take some of my Tylenol-3," she said, "and get a bottle for Andrew. I'll be right there."

Andrew sucked noisily and energetically on his knuckles, his eyes still shut. Arthur closed his laptop, dropped his sock-covered feet from the coffee table to the floor so he could lean forward to set his computer down. Then he inched his hand underneath his waking son's tiny body, under chest and chin, and lifted the baby to his shoulder.

He was so tiny and light. So perfect, smelling of baby lotion. A veritable cherub while he slept, and a demanding fiend when his meal was delayed. Much, Gwen had teased, like his father.

Gwen returned, shaking the bottle to mix the powdered formula into the warm water, and smiled at them. "I did wonder," she said, seating herself on the couch next to Arthur instead of in the rocker/recliner where she usually sat to feed the baby. She maneuvered the throw pillows so one was under the elbow that would cradle Andrew's head, and the other on her lap to protect her still-healing incision scar from the baby's weight and involuntary movement.

Andrew wiggled against Arthur's chest, making little mewling noises. He blinked as Gwen tugged his sock back onto his foot, then Arthur handed him carefully to his mother.

"You wondered what?" Arthur asked.

Gwen propped the bottle between her knees as she fastened the Velcro of a bib around Andrew's unsteady neck. "Your father," she said. "I wondered if you would unconsciously follow the example he set."

"What?"

Gwen cooed at Andrew as she tipped the bottle into his mouth. "I just meant, if you would be one of those new dads who was 'hands-off'. If you'd show your love going overboard with material provision rather than – I think he drooled on your shirt while you were holding him."

Arthur pulled the fabric away from his skin to inspect the wet spot, and grunted agreement and unconcern, both.

"Get much work done?" she asked.

He stretched and let his arms rest along the back of the couch. "A bit."

She leaned forward briefly before settling back. "You'd get more done if you didn't distract yourself doodling," she said in amusement.

"Doodling?" The sheet he'd taken from the scanner in the home office next to the nursery still lay on the coffee table where he'd dropped it. "That was for Merlin." She snickered, and he defended, "His message earlier this afternoon just sounded – down."

"Why?" she said. "I thought – Freya, England, the lake?"

"He was apologizing for not remembering, himself." Arthur grimaced. "I guessed that meant it didn't work – or hasn't yet, or something." He leaned over her to watch Andrew slurp and swallow quietly, his wide eyes going from one parent's face to the other, his little hands trying to clutch at the bib. "Seems so unfair," he murmured, turning his face to kiss Gwen's neck.

She tipped her head to allow it, though her eyes stayed on the baby. "What?"

"That I get so much – and Merlin so little. I wish there was something we could do – something I could do."

"Hm," Gwen said.

He pulled back. "Hm? What does that mean – _hm_?"

"You practically ordered him to forget about that sword," Gwen said. "It seems more important to him than to you, almost."

"Well – yeah," Arthur said. "Taking a look at it in a public museum is one thing, going begging for a peek to folks who don't bat an eyelash at terrorism is – far different."

"No argument," Gwen said. "But he disagrees with you. He's willing to risk more for her than you are willing to risk letting him."

"Fires and earthquakes?" Arthur said sarcastically, mentioning the more extreme of Merlin's hot-tempered suggestions.

Gwen nudged him without interrupting Andrew's meal. "Are you sure," she hesitated deliberately, her jaw and expression set in that way she had when she wanted to say something she suspected he would not take well. "Are you sure you're not the least bit – well, jealous?"

"Jealous of Merlin?" He barked out a laugh that made Andrew jump, and gave Gwen's glare an apologetic shrug. "I have a beautiful wife who loves me – _again_ – and a strong healthy baby son. Why would I even think about Freya like that?"

"That's not what I meant," Gwen said. She gave him a level, evaluating look from warm brown eyes. "I mean, before… we never even knew about Freya, and after – he never showed any serious interest in a girl. How would you have felt if he'd come to you the year after my coronation, say, and told you, Arthur I've met a girl I want to get married and settle on a farm outside the city."

He frowned at her. He couldn't deny that a certain inexplicable twinge had gone through him at the imagined scenario, but – "I would have been happy for him, of course," he said. "He deserved to be happy, and loved. Of course, he would've made a terrible farmer."

"He was a farmer in Ealdor," Gwen pointed out.

"Ah, but he had the soul of a knight," Arthur said, grinning.

"You would have hated to lose him, and you know it," Gwen claimed.

"But I wouldn't have, would I?" Arthur said triumphantly. "Destiny, remember? King Arthur and Merlin the wizard? Two sides of one coin?"

"You didn't know that, then," she reminded him gently. "I think you were used to him being around, being your servant, fetching and carrying and going and – even when you lost your temper and ordered him away, or when you worried he was injured – always coming back. Magic and destiny, maybe yes. But you never have understood his loyalty, Arthur, and –"

"Has any of us ever understood that?" Arthur said, annoyed.

"It's different for you," Gwen said patiently. "You served the kingdom, and now, the company. Your loyalty to any one person can only go so far, balanced against the greater good of everyone you're responsible for. Arthur, we all understand that, we always have." At that moment, the formula ran out, and Andrew sucked on bubbles and air for a confused moment before Gwen passed the empty bottle to Arthur to position the baby to burp.

"Your knights understand Merlin's loyalty a little better, I think – they have that, too. Any one of them would happily die protecting you – that's always been true. Merlin's different because he doesn't _seem_ like he would fight and die like the others, like he would be able to fight like the others. Merlin's different because instead of choosing to use his power to put himself in a position of authority, he uses it to support yours – and that's highly unusual, in any century."

Arthur let a wry little smile pull sideways at his mouth. It was all true, though he hadn't really thought of it like that. "But what does that have to do with the sword?" he asked.

"This time," Gwen continued, patting Andrew's lower back, while he tried to hold his head up and stare at the back of the couch. "This time, he's not your servant, for you to order his time and attention. This time, he has a woman to dedicate his life and love to – and don't you think you might be just the tiniest bit afraid that the loyalty you don't understand might slip?"

"Are you saying," Arthur pushed himself to his feet, paced across the living room rug, and turned to face her, "that somehow I don't want Freya to remember? How can you think that? I want him to be happy, and since that evidently means being with her-"

"How badly do you want him to be happy?" she asked. "If the lake doesn't do it, the sword –"

"I don't want him to risk his life, his safety, his sanity maybe, just on the off chance she might remember the sword!" Arthur snapped.

"You mean, you don't want to risk your happiness if something happened to him," she said.

He said, "It's not either his happiness or mine. I'm not asking him to sacrifice the love of his life and all future happiness for my peace of mind. I just – I just feel _blind_ where Halbyon is concerned. It's like how they tell you, don't dive into water where you can't see the bottom. It's all murky, and anything at all could be down there." He scowled at the floor. Cautiously, and legally – only, according to Chance, that might not be possible. Not enough evidence to take to court. And what then?

"What if you just asked them?" she said. "It doesn't mean you have to sign anything. Just, find a way to make a deal, on a smaller scale. A trade, a bargain. A private viewing of the sword?"

A private meeting, Wendy Doran_. I confess I've always been a fan of the Arthurian legends, it's part of why I work for Halbyon._

It made his instincts itch, like walking into an ambush.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Thank you for agreeing to see me again," Wendy gushed, excited as a kid at Christmas, as she had been before. "I was so worried when I'd heard about your accident."

This time, Arthur had arrived first at the busy little coffee shop, Monday morning, Chance and Wendy a handful of minutes afterward. Together – he knew, because he'd seen them through the shop's window, both stepping out of the agent's Chrysler.

"I apologize," Arthur said neutrally, "for my hasty departure, last time. You caught me off guard, you know." He kept his almost-healed left hand in his lap.

Naively innocent or deeply cunning?

"Yes, I'm sorry," she said. "I got a little carried away with myself. It's not every day you get to meet – well. I understand why you'd want to keep this – knowledge – private."

"Coffee?" Chance suggested. Arthur already had a cup, still steaming, so the agent left the little table to approach the counter.

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble with your boss," Arthur said. "I suppose that meeting did not go as you planned."

"Well," Wendy hesitated, but only for a moment. "I was reprimanded for acting impulsively, of course. I mean, not everyone thinks that Marvin Caroban is – I mean, not everyone believes, you see. But it's hard to deny there is something about him, a little more interesting than our usual prospects. I'm till dying to meet him in person, of course." She giggled like a schoolgirl. "And to see the two of you together would be – extraordinary. Epic."

"To be honest," he said, "I found your relationship with Jan Steffan disturbing."

"Oh, there's no relationship." She waved a hand negligently. "I paid her a visit while I was researching Mer – ah, Marvin, I suppose you prefer. We have very little in common anymore."

"Hm," he said. "And what was your conclusion about the incarcerated hacker calling himself Mordred?"

"Appalling," she said. "It seems a key psychological test had been inappropriately moderated. Dr. Spell merely requested a person with uncommon computer skills, and chose from among half a dozen candidates, himself."

_I'll just bet he did_, Arthur thought. Her answers were easy and casual; not sounding rehearsed, or as if she was having to scramble to find a believable lie. "Tell me a little more about your department for those skilled in parapsychological phenomena," he said. "I rejected your offer outright, the last time, but now I find myself – intrigued by the process."

Agent Chance, Arthur noted, was finding himself intrigued by the display of baked goods under the well-lit glass display case beside the café's cash register, though he glanced back at them in a watchful manner.

"Well, usually an employee or client comes to us," Wendy said. "Any professional in any field, looking for a specific or better job. Or a potential employer will give us criteria for a new-hire and we provide a number of candidates for their selection. But this department – people don't usually know they _have_ these abilities, you see, that's why the sort of research I showed you on Marvin is necessary. Then one of our representatives approaches the person with an offer – short- or long-term employment, complete with training, and the assignment opportunities absolutely _exploding_ with potential." She beamed.

Arthur cringed, remembering the smell of jet fuel and the frightened screams of passengers and Merlin's hand like a bruising vise around his wrist as every tendon in his friend's body stood out with the terrible effort of saving a thousand-ton jet dead in the sky.

"Does your job entail more than finding these people?" Arthur asked.

"Oh, I've been involved with the proposal process as well," she explained eagerly. "Some people find it hard to accept their potential, much less decide what they want to do with their lives once they know what they're capable of."

"What if the person doesn't believe? Or doesn't want to accept the offer for training and re-employment?" Arthur said. "Or what if you find an under-age young adult?"

"We do have a few we've discovered," Wendy said in an instructive tone. "But we absolutely don't approach until after their birthday of majority. No children. And of course we're disappointed if someone chooses not to explore their potential, but after all, it is a free country."

"What about the other branches of Halbyon?" Arthur said.

"I don't know what you mean?" Chance approached the table with covered coffees for himself and Wendy, and she glanced up to thank him with a bright smile.

"Is the eighteen-year limit across-the-board policy?" Arthur persisted. "What tactics of persuasion might be employed to gain these potential employees?"

"Yes, the age barrier is non-negotiable," she said. "As far as proposing persuasively, it's rather like a salesman on a car lot, or a military recruiter. It doesn't do much good to pressure or lie, you lose the sale."

Pressure or lie or threaten? My own reasons, Shane had told them. But Merlin believed that Eddie's safety might have been questioned. And then there was the girl from the Maine flight…

"Julie Wild," he said.

Wendy grimaced. "That was the poor girl killed in a plane crash in Maine that Gib asked me about, wasn't it? I looked up her file – she signed with us on her eighteenth birthday, and after a year's training was released at her own request to another job – Microsoft, I believe it was."

Julie Wild was believed to have run away from home at age 16. What, Arthur wondered, had been happening to her until that day she turned 18? And why did she not contact her family either, if she'd been working an honest job with an honest company?

"And the accident?" he pressed, though Chance shot him a warning glance.

"Gib and I have been over this," Wendy said. "Could she have caused the wreck? Possibly. I mean… possibly. But why would she?" She shrugged her shoulders, clearly dismissing the likelihood of that consideration.

Motive, Arthur thought. Julie Wild had opportunity and means. If they looked into who might have benefitted from that accident, who would have had the funding necessary to coordinate it… a job for Merlin, maybe.

Merlin. He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't heard from his friend since Friday afternoon, except a message from Gaius saying that the international flight had landed in Dulles without incident.

"Ms. Doran," he said. "Wendy." She beamed at him. "I have recently become aware that Halbyon owns a remarkable bit of history." Chance's eyes narrowed infinitesimally in calculation – at him or at Wendy, Arthur wasn't sure.

"Yes! you mean the Artorius Blade," she said. "I've seen it only once myself, but – oh! omigosh! it used to be yours, didn't it? I bet you're curious to see it again, right?"

"I was hoping that something along those lines might be arranged," he said. "Rick Hennessy and I have not reached a final decision on the question of the merger, and of course the subject of Marvin's contract requires more consideration – but surely a little matter of assuaging curiosity? Perhaps at the meeting scheduled for Thursday?" He wondered how on earth they'd get Freya into the room, whether she'd need to _touch_ it, whether she'd even cooperate with him, as angry as she'd been at his handling of Merlin's delicate psyche.

Wendy bit her lip. "Mr. Summerall is _very_ possessive of the artifact," she said. "Of course I can _ask_ –"

"Please do?" He gritted his teeth to manage a charming smile. She blushed and Chance rolled his eyes.

"Yes, okay, I'll ask." She was excited at the prospect, now. "And – oh! will Merlin be coming to that meeting, then?"

His spine stiffened in mistrust though he had almost completely concluded that Wendy Dora was innocently naïve. "I believe he is planning to," he said noncommittally. "The final decision is, of course, his to make."

"It is?" She appeared genuinely astonished. "But – you're his boss. His king. Don't you just – command him?"

Arthur laughed so hard he choked. Wendy looked to Chance for explanation and the agent shrugged.

"Never really have," Arthur managed. "And Ms. Doran, you would do well to remember that."

**A/N: I haven't written a chapter that included both povs this whole series – part of the reason for the chapter title. But I didn't want to make it two, because we're pushing 20 already. And, fyi, my company is coming later today and staying for a week, so I can't predict when the next update will come… sooner rather than later, hopefully.**


	13. Presented

**Chapter 13: Presented**

Merlin slid into the Camelot Securities office Monday afternoon, shutting the door behind him and leaning against it. All four men looked up from their desks with various welcoming grins.

"Bad timing," he explained. "Accounts Receivable is in the break-room." That department was comprised entirely of women – and this was his first day back in Camelot after the freakish jet accident.

"Should have checked your watch before you came in," Gwaine told him, leaning his desk chair back. "Or are you still on England time?" His grin was devilish – he knew the real reason Merlin had taken Freya back to the Old Country, but Gwaine would never miss an opportunity to tease him about a romantic getaway.

"How's the baby?" Merlin asked Elyan.

"Fine. Eating – sleeping – the works. Gwen says he's gained five ounces." He shrugged with an indulgent-older-brother kind of smile.

"And she's doing okay?" Merlin set his bulging satchel down on the small central round table.

"Aside from wishing she could get more sleep."

"How was Philly?" Merlin asked the other two.

Jason shrugged, Ray rolled his eyes. "You hate to work all day every day and not solve anything," Ray said.

"Tell us," Gwaine said, "Merlin, was your long weekend trip productive?"

Merlin could feel his ears turning red and he couldn't help a self-conscious smile that had the two newest Camelot Securities officers snickering, but he also knew what Gwaine was really asking. "Progress was made," he allowed.

"No date set?" Elyan teased. "No wedding bells?"

Merlin hummed noncommittally. "I have better places to be, boys, so I'll just give you what I came to, and be off about my business." From his satchel he pulled the four folded garments nearest the zippered side pocket. "Gift shop souvenirs," he told them. "One-stop shopping. Don't thank me – it required absolutely no thought on my part." He tossed the t-shirts, one to each of his friends. "Although, now Freya thinks my sense of humor is somewhat bent."

There had been a whole rack of the shirts in one of the shops she'd dragged him into, each worse than the one before. The shirts were white, the lettering deliberately archaic, black lined with red and glittered gold ostentatiously proclaiming the wearer a Knight of the Round Table. Below, in slightly smaller lettering it gave a more specific title.

To Ray and Jason he gave _Sir Fing the Web_ and _Sir Rounde Sounde_. Elyan's read _Sir Rupp of Figgs_ and Gwaine's was, of course, _Sir Ossis of the Liver_.

"I'm not that bad," Gwaine protested, but couldn't stop grinning.

Merlin made his way to the second floor next, to Engineering, and had to wait for Percival to get off the phone.

"I hope your quest was more successful than mine," Percival sighed. "More questions than answers."

"Can I help?" Merlin asked, leaning against the edge of the cubical wall.

Percival looked at him a moment, then shrugged and pulled open a file drawer. "Here's what we have on Julie Wild," he said. "Everything we could find out about her trip to Philly. Tourist stuff. She was friendly, but didn't eat with anybody or sleep with anybody, and she was in her hotel room as far as anyone can tell, from nine to nine."

"I'll trade you," Merlin proposed, accepting the file and tossing a souvenir t-shirt to the big knight.

Percival let the shirt fall open and held it up against his chest. _Sir Loin of Beef_. He gave Merlin his wide, little-boy's smile. "I think I got the best of that trade," he told Merlin. "Although, now I'm hungry for steak."

Merlin climbed to the third floor wondering how Leon had faired on the staircase that morning. Two crutches leaned against the wall beside Leon's desk, and someone had positioned a second desk chair where Leon could prop his leg up and still reach his keyboard. A black brace on the outside of the former knight's khaki trousers held the joint immobile.

"Welcome back," Leon greeted Merlin.

"You too," Merlin said, gesturing to the elevated injury.

Leon grimaced. "I thought we weren't going to see you until tomorrow. What was it like?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nothing left," he said. "I mean, nothing was like it was." He didn't say, except the lake. No one but him had any experience there worth remembering, anyway.

"Have they already put you back to work?" Leon asked, indicating the file from Percival.

"I guess." Merlin flapped it against his leg, then came further into the office to unfold a metal chair next to the desk chair Leon's leg inhabited. "I'm sorry about this." He tapped the lowest strap of the brace lightly.

Leon gave him a puzzled look. "Merlin, you saved all our lives," he said. "Why are you sorry?"

_ Because Shane might not have been on that flight, if not for me. Because I gave first thought, attention, magic, strength, to Arthur. Because I didn't even examine your injury properly._

Merlin shrugged. "I just wish I could have done more," he said. "Does it hurt much?"

"Not really," Leon said. "They've given me pretty good prescription pain-killers, orders to use the brace and the crutches so further surgery doesn't become necessary. It's more a nuisance than a pain, really."

"Well." Merlin dug in his satchel for the last t-shirt. "I brought everyone something back – here's yours." He handed the folded shirt to Leon. "My friend went to England and all he brought me was this stupid t-shirt," he joked, and readied himself, sliding his hand forward.

Leon unfolded the shirt and held it up to read the lettering. The whisper of fabric opening covered Merlin's spell, and Leon's attention was distracted from the golden gleam of magic by the words, which read _Sir Kull the Wagons_. He let it drop to his lap, giving Merlin a wry smile, mere seconds after Merlin pulled his outstretched hand back from its position hovering inches over Leon's injury.

"Hope it didn't cost you too much," Leon teased, smiling in spite of himself.

Merlin shrugged, moving the folding chair out of Leon's way as he stood up to leave. "I have no idea, actually," he said. "Pounds and pence, you know."

"Thank you, Merlin," Leon said sincerely as he reached the door.

He paused to answer, "Stay off that leg, it'll heal faster that way."

Merlin had left Arthur for last on purpose, and sauntered unhurriedly to the front of the building, to the CEO's office. They had, he expected, a lot to talk about. If Arthur was busy, he could wait. Mary was on the phone, but gave him a bright smile and wave as he passed her, which he returned.

Arthur was typing when Merlin opened the office door far enough to slip inside, letting it swing shut behind him. The former king didn't take his eyes from his work on the computer screen immediately, but his recognition of Merlin showed as a wide smile spread across his face.

"Well," he drawled, hitting a last flurry of keystrokes before sitting back to observe Merlin. "Look who's back in Camelot. Not in the tavern, nor yet gathering herbs for Gaius, but – vacationing with a lady, no less." Merlin grinned back at him, happy to have his lady to be teased about, happy to be back to receive the teasing from his friend. "It went well, then?" Arthur said, sobering slightly. "What happened?"

"You don't remember the lake," Merlin commented, dropping his satchel onto the short couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window, and seating himself next to it, leaning over his knees. "You were there more than once."

"I – don't remember the lake," Arthur admitted. He pushed his chair back from the desk, rose and came around to lounge in one of the guest chairs, nearer to Merlin and with no barriers between them. "Merlin – how many times were you there?"

"I don't know, half a dozen," Merlin said. "Nothing else was the same - but the lake was."

"It was hard for you," Arthur noted with kind dispassion.

"It was – confusing," Merlin said.

"Did she remember, then?" Arthur asked.

"Not there." Merlin gazed out the window at the tops of the distant green oak trees. "She dreamed, though. Not everything – I think that the curse somehow… I don't know, affected or blocked her memory. She dreamed of her death on the shore of the lake, and she dreamed of – later. Speaking to me, helping me."

"That's good, Merlin, isn't it," Arthur said, giving him an unrestrained smile.

"It is, actually." She didn't remember what he had feared for her to remember – the transformation, the murders, Arthur and the knights surrounding her to capture, to kill… "She's not – completely accepting," he added. "It's hard, when I'm the only corroboration she has. But – she understands." He gave Arthur a small private smile. "She hasn't mentioned therapy since."

Arthur understood. "But you're not rushing a proposal, either," he said.

"It may be awkward for a time," Merlin said. "But _hopefully_…"

"I am _so_ pleased," Arthur told him, and he looked it.

"How about you?" Merlin said.

Arthur groaned and then laughed at himself. "Last night I suggested to Gwen that she go back to work at the hospital, I'd sell the company and be a stay-at-home dad."

"Much simpler," Merlin said. "Let me guess – she wasn't thrilled about the idea?"

Arthur's mouth twisted wryly. "Well, you're back now. Wednesday we'll have the Round Table meeting first thing, before our face-to-face with Halbyon, mid-morning."

"Percival gave me the Julie Wild file," Merlin said. "I'll try to figure out exactly what happened to her before the flight, if I can."

"Failing that," Arthur said, "perhaps we can connect a motivation to taking down that particular flight, or the Norfolk one."

"Hm," Merlin murmured, his mind already running through the avenues of informational searches the task would require.

"Chance said they closed the investigation of the Norfolk flight," Arthur added. "But there is no way we agree to a merger unless and until we can figure out who is at fault – whether the company is knowingly or purposefully releasing trained terrorists, suicide saboteurs, if you will, or whether it's –"

"I think that message was fairly self-explanatory," Merlin pointed out.

"Whether it's only a small element within an otherwise respectable company," Arthur finished.

"If," Merlin said slowly, "they want me to work for them or with them or whatever, might it not be a good idea for me to do just that – and gather evidence while I'm –"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell," Arthur said, a little angrily.

Merlin leaned back on the two-person couch, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms over his chest. It was a familiar tactic to him, playing along until he had enough evidence to prove his suspicions. From inside Halbyon he might even be in a better position to help anyone else who might be in Shane's shoes. "What are you afraid of?" he said.

"One of two things happening," Arthur said. "One, that they manage to catch you off-guard and use Steffan and Xander's tactics against you – hallucinogens and tranquilizers and whatever that formula was for the cure they slipped you before –"

"It was temporary," Merlin protested, but not wholeheartedly.

"Temporary gives them time to restrain you and go all-out Manchurian Candidate on your ass," Arthur snapped. Then he took a deep controlling breath and added more evenly, "My other fear is for you to seriously lose your temper."

That, Merlin reflected, had happened before, also. "So another polite refusal," he said, uncrossing his arms and dipping into his satchel for the gift he'd gotten for Arthur. "These are a dime a dozen over there, but, I dunno." He shrugged and leaned forward to pass the small object to his friend. "It reminded me of you."

Arthur held it up to examine it. It was a tiny figure in crimson and chainmail, the visor of the helmet lifted to show a golden-bearded face. One foot was up on the boulder that formed the base of the figure, and both hands were wrapped around the hilt of the sword half-buried in the rock. He let out a chuckle, turning the miniature King Arthur this way and that.

"I remember," he said softly, something ancient and regal coming into his blue eyes. And though he wore a collared shirt and tie instead of chainmail and crown, Merlin saw his king.

"That's just for now," he told Arthur. "Til we can get the real thing back for you."

Arthur leaned back in his seat to place the figure on his desk. Then he looked at Merlin. "No," he said.

Merlin looked at him a moment, uncomprehending. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean, not at this time. Not unless they're willing to put a reasonable monetary value to the artifact and sell it to us straight-up," Arthur said. "It will not be part of any negotiation."

"It's yours," he argued. "It's important, Arthur. They can't be allowed to keep it."

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed impatiently. "If Freya dreamed her memories back, then you don't need it."

"Precisely," Merlin shot back. "So now you know I'm not telling you this out of any selfish motivation! It doesn't matter whether they want to sell it to you or not – though by all means, go ahead with your offer to buy – that sword belongs to you and no one else, and it must be returned to you. One way or another."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Is there something you're not telling me?" he said. "Something you know about that sword that I don't?"

Merlin closed his eyes. He hated to lie, but he hated worse to tell the truth, about this. "It's like," he said aloud, "when Jafar gets his hands on the genie's lamp. Bad things happen. There's more to that sword than intrinsic value or whether it's the genuine historical Excalibur."

"Like the magic lamp," Arthur said impassively. He drummed his fingers on the desk, looking over Merlin's head at the framed watercolor hung on the office wall. "What would you think of me, Merlin, if in my dealings with Odin, or Annis, I had allowed a detail, an object of treasure or an acreage of contested territory, to become a point of contention until negotiations fell through and full-scale war erupted?"

"This is not the same thing," Merlin said obstinately. "The ownership –"

"Cannot be proved!" Arthur said. "It's not labeled, property of Arthur Drake. I can't take them to court and say, just here is where I scratched my initials fifteen centuries ago! There are those at Halbyon who have shown themselves capable of endangering hundreds of innocent lives to prove a point – unless and until we identify them and bring them to justice, more lives will be in danger – and this time, it might not be the lives of strangers."

Merlin remembered a file, a photo. Percival's little daughter, part of the surveillance of _him_. Just across the street from the house where Arthur's family – his wife and his tiny vulnerable son – lived. Merlin shook his head, pushed himself up from the couch, paced across the room to the window.

"If they're willing to down a jet to force me to prove myself, to tell us, now you know we're serious," he said to Arthur, "they're not going to say _oh okay some other time perhaps_ to our polite _no thanks not just now_. Sometimes – it's not enough to defend the citadel against attacks."

Arthur shot him a sharp look, which he ignored to stare down into the front lawn of Camelot, at the rising-sun modern sculpture that Arthur had climbed, three years ago, to remove explosives from a drone headed for Camelot headquarters. How the hell did you defend a citadel anymore, anyway? And meanwhile, Arthur's sword, the dragon-breathed blade, remained in the wrong hands. He remembered Kilgarrah's startling cry of rage when he revealed that Uther had used it to kill the wraith.

_In the wrong hands – it was born of the old magic – you have no idea of its power – this sword could do great evil._

Merlin tried a teasing grin at his friend. "The best defense is a good offense," he suggested, forcing some optimism.

Arthur's jaw tightened. "What would you suggest," he said. "Make a stand at Camlann? Or perhaps I should challenge Halbyon's champion to single combat?"

Merlin's heart stood still. The office whited out before his eyes and he saw Arthur's body, slumped wounded against an outcropping of rock, a bloody smear on the chainmail high on his left side. He saw a spot-lit stage, Arthur dueling a white-haired stranger, the dragon-breathed sword wielded against him.

Helldamnfire.

He blinked and Arthur's face swam back into view. "That was – uncalled for," he said, and his voice hurt coming through his throat.

Arthur stood and took two steps toward him. "_Merlin_," he said. "I didn't mean –"

"How would you feel," Merlin continued speaking, but he didn't know how – he didn't seem to be breathing, at all. "How – how the hell would you feel if you'd had to bring me on an endless journey, searching for help when there was none to be had, and watch me dying every minute of every damn hour after hour and then _fall_ and then _fail_ and then stand there so damned _alone_ –"

Merlin rubbed his sleeve furiously over his face, and twitched violently away from Arthur's outstretched hand.

"No," he said. "No. You just stay here safe in your citadel, safe as my magic and the blood of our friends can make it and I'll – I'll take care of the rest."

"Merlin," Arthur said, his voice at once stern and compassionate, his hand holding and gripping Merlin's shirt at the shoulder. "Stop it and just _listen_ –"

"Let me go," Merlin said, not looking at him. "Let me go or I swear to all the gods there be that I will finish what we started the day we met. And without magic."

Silence for a moment. Then Arthur pulled his hand back. And Merlin left the room.

He went immediately to his own office, locked himself in, and pulled the blinds on all the internal windows. Then he pulled the phone jack out of the wall, turned off his cell phone, and disabled both the instant messenger and the email alert features on his computer system. He turned on the radio so that he wouldn't be able to hear the door if anyone came to try to get his attention.

_It's nothing… it's so normal… you just stand there… I could say so much… _

Then he began to work.

_I couldn't tell… if anyone here was feeling the way I do… But I'm lonely now… and I don't know how… to get it back to good…_

Systematically he located and studied blueprints, building permits, contractor's notes until he knew every inch of the Halbyon property down to the landscaping completed last week.

_This don't mean that… you own me… this ain't no good, in fact it's phony as hell… but things worked out just like you wanted, too… _

He absorbed hours of security camera footage, interior, exterior, on the streets around. _If you see me out, you don't know me, try… to turn your head, try to give me some room… to figure out just what I'm going to do_… He dug deep into the background information of the security personnel and any employee who had stayed late or returned to the site after working hours the past month. _It's best if we all kept this quiet instead_…

He sifted through the layers of anti-theft technology for the building, the floor, the room, and the case where the Artorius Blade was housed, and he did it without leaving their best security specialists so much as a hint of his activity. _Everyone here… knows everyone here is thinking bout somebody else… it's best if we all keep this under our heads… _

When he pushed his desk chair back, out into the middle of the darkened room, his shirt and hair were damp with sweat in spite of the air conditioning in the building. He was trembling with fatigue and the outpouring of magic used in his research. He looked at the time on the computer. 6:26am. Tuesday morning.

_ I couldn't tell… if anyone here was feeling the way… I do… _

He was too tired yet, to stand and leave, though he would do both, and soon. He turned off the computer without checking any messages, left the phone cord lie loose on the carpet, left the radio playing, whether the same song still, or just again. He leaned the desk chair back, shoved his keyboard out of the way with the heels of his boots, crossed his arms over his chest, and closed his eyes.

When he woke, it was 2:16pm. Disoriented, he checked the date again. Still Tuesday. His muscles were sore and stiff from sleeping almost eight hours in his desk chair.

He fished his cell phone from the satchel abandoned under the desk by his feet, and turned it on, briefly noting the number of missed calls, new voicemails, and received texts. Keying for both Gaius' number and Freya's, he composed a brief message – **Bsy wrking. Lst trck time. Srry. Will call latr.**

With his office door locked and the light off, most people would assume he hadn't even come to work. He left it the same way, slipped past Carol's office unnoticed, and descended the front staircase, waiting until a series of incoming calls busied Patty the receptionist, then crossed the lobby quickly and unobtrusively.

Halfway through the afternoon, the employee parking lot was still full. He stood on the grass verge, hidden from the view of the third-floor CEO's office behind one of the trees, and considered whether it would be better to carry out his plan immediately, or wait until after the meetings tomorrow.

Deciding, he slung his satchel into the passenger seat of the Pathfinder and drove, back to the townhouse long enough to shower and change into something more suitable and grab a bite to eat, then to Gwaine's apartment. He let himself in, made himself comfortable on the couch to wait for his friend to get off work.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

"Gee-damn." Merlin woke to Gwaine's voice, and the sound of the front door of the knight's apartment shutting. "A little warning, next time you decide to show up inside a man's locked apartment, Merlin?"

Merlin didn't immediately open his eyes. "You saw my Pathfinder in the lot, Gwaine," he mumbled against the couch cushion, tracking Gwaine's footsteps through the apartment as he tossed his keys down on a kitchen counter and came into the carpeted living area.

"So what's up?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin rolled to his back and moved his feet. Gwaine collapsed, slouching, at the far end of the couch. "Freya's on your case again? We're gonna drink ourselves under the table tonight?" Merlin pulled himself half-upright against the arm of the couch and rubbed his eyes. "Or is it Arthur?" Gwaine continued, giving him a keen glance. "His highness has been in a mood since yesterday – that means he either fought with Gwen or with you. And you're here, now."

"You sure they never offered you a detective's badge?" Merlin said with a smile.

"Never wanted it. So what's up?"

Merlin rubbed his hand through his hair, studying his friend. Leon and Elyan he couldn't ask; their primary loyalty was to Arthur, as captain, as brother-in-law. Percival might agree, but there was Katherine and Katy to consider. "I have a favor to ask," he said to Gwaine.

"Thought as much. What are we doing?"

"You should know," Merlin advised him, "Arthur's going to be pissed when he finds out. And it's illegal. So you can say no."

"Tell me this," Gwaine returned with his devilish grin. "Whatever you have in mind, whether I say yes or no, are you going to do it anyway?"

"Yes." Merlin grinned back.

Gwaine shrugged. "Then, I think, Arthur would be more pissed at me if I let you do it alone. I'm in. What are we doing, and when?"

"We're breaking into the headquarters of Halbyon, Incorporated, to steal Arthur's sword back," Merlin told him. "Tonight."

**A/N: Okay, this is late due to company and some rather radical re-working of the format, as I ended up expanding sections and making it two shorter chapters. Which means that 14 will be up all the sooner!**

**The t-shirt slogans are, some of them, borrowed from Looney Tunes, I think it's "The Singing Sword" episode.**


	14. Liberated

**Chapter 14: Liberated**

Merlin set up his equipment in the cab of Gwaine's green pick-up, on the way to Halbyon at twenty til two Wednesday morning. The goal was to accomplish the theft without leaving any proof whatsoever. To that end, he'd manipulate not only Halbyon's internal surveillance cameras, but any external video they'd pass through along the way. Anyone searching would find that the green Ford truck had remained in the apartment lot all night.

It was a matter, simple to explain and not much harder for Merlin and his magic to accomplish, of splicing previous footage over their images without affecting the internal digital time stamp of the camera. It was an interesting exercise with traffic cams, which included other moving vehicles, which was why Gwaine had hooked a GPS to his center console, programmed with a route that would bypass most of those videos entirely.

They parked on a nearby hill overlooking Halbyon, reached by a gravel access road blocked with a padlocked chain stretched between two trees – not a problem for Merlin's magic.

Gwaine cut the engine and sat looking down at the shadows and parking-lot lights of the building. "You sure you don't want to just ask them," he said, as Merlin re-arranged the screens already showing the company's internal security video feed, for his use. "Maybe they have it gift-wrapped for Arthur already, they're just waiting for the right moment to give it to him."

Merlin snorted, snapping the collar-mounted mic around his neck; the only way for Gwaine to keep track of him inside the building. He'd be invisible to individual cameras as he passed through their frames, as they looped back on seconds of previous footage with nary a nanosecond of hesitation for anyone to detect. Gwaine would set the process onto the next camera in the sequence, and needed to be able to communicate the timing of that with him, to avoid any other person in the vicinity.

"This is the company that starts negotiations with covert surveillance and finishes by sabotaging passenger jets." He adjusted the earpiece and flicked the mic on. "Have you got me?" he said. It would be a open communication, to give Merlin the constant free use of his hands.

"Yeah, I got you." Merlin opened the truck door and stepped out, reaching back for the sniper rifle case, and Gwaine added, "Be careful in there, Merlin."

Merlin slung the rifle case cross-wise over his back, and grinned in response, before moving off down the hillside.

Halbyon's security was tight. Professional. If he were anyone else, his plan tonight might require weeks of preparation and half a dozen team members. But he was, after all, Merlin. Emrys. The most powerful damned et cetera.

_if you're not him, no great loss. Camelot is ours. If you are him, then this should not be goodbye…_

Well. He began to whistle between his teeth, softly. _Hello again, hello/ Just called… to let… you know/ I couldn't… sleep… at all… tonight_… He kept his movements deliberate and fluid like a slow dance, his mind and his magic focused on the timing and location of the cameras, to coincide with Gwaine's work in the cab of the truck. _And I know it's late… but I couldn't wait…_ If he did it right, not even Gwaine with his pirated feed would ever see him. Gwaine, the only one who'd know where he was every second, ready to warn him. _Hello, my friends, hello_…

He slipped from shadow to shadow, concentrated on avoiding areas where the surveillance camera ranges overlapped. One at a time. _Lately it's been crazy… and maybe I'm to blame… _He reached the side door and paused for a momentary breath, glancing up into the darkness where Gwaine was waiting. _But I put my heart above my head_… He deactivated the one alarm with a single thought, unlocked the door, and slipped through.

It was silent in the basement hallway, and dark, only floodlights in the stairwells and corridor crossings lit at half-wattage. Merlin knew with an analytical part of his mind where to find the Artorius Blade, the best route, the alternates, the magic required to unlock and bypass and fool the system into mocking the suggestion that it had been breached, tonight.

Another part of his mind – or maybe it wasn't his mind at all, but soul and spirit – was keen for the reverberations of the sword's power, magic recognizing magic, kin calling to kin.

"In the hallway, opening door – now." His shoes were noiseless on the carpet. Gloves were unnecessary as the door to the stairwell swung open at a glance, closed and latched with the softest of clicks behind him.

Gwaine responded, "_Stop at the landing for the second floor, behind the door, in eleven seconds_."

Merlin took the flight of stairs two at a time, then stood still flat to the wall as a security guard opened the door beside him, sweeping a cursory glance up and then down, before returning to his rounds. The video footage would show the guard checking an empty stairwell, Merlin's body hidden for that brief moment, the feed looped the remainder of the time he spent on the stairs, continuing to climb.

Gwaine spoke into his ear again. "_Sword's on the fourth floor. Two more guards between you and it. Stairwell clear_."

Merlin reached the fourth floor and paused once again beside the door, electronically locked as they all were. The hard part wasn't the lock – it was tricking the security system into believing the door was never unlocked. No proof, none that anyone had entered, tonight. "Leaving stairwell for fourth floor corridor in three – two – one." The door clicked open and Merlin entered the hall.

"_Roger that_."

Unlike Camelot, which used an open floor plan, allowing for muted friendly noise and an easy casual communication between employees, Halbyon's headquarters building was a warren of halls and closed, windowless rooms.

Light on his toes, Merlin was down the hall – exchanged confirmation with Gwaine – and around the corner in eight seconds' worth of repeated time for two cameras. "_You've got one guard on that floor_," Gwaine cautioned softly. "_Opposite end of the building, two halls down from the display room_."

Down another hall – reprogram the camera at the end – pause and wait for a second one to pan away from him in it's normal path – around another corner. Facing north, now, and the CEO's office ahead on the left, where the sword rested in a locked case of shatter-proof glass on a pressure sensor behind a grid of laser –

Merlin stopped mid-step, then turned slowly to his right. Gray metal door, the slide tag in the holder on the wall declaring dully Janitorial Supplies. "_Are you at the corner_?" Gwaine questioned in his earpiece.

He put out his hand, not-quite touching the knob, which required an old-fashioned metal key. The lock clicked back, and the door swung open. He slipped inside and allowed the door to shut him away from the security cameras. "Release the feed," he told Gwaine quietly. "I'll tell you when to pick my cover back up, the last hallway you had me in."

"_What are you doing_?" Gwaine responded.

"I'll let you know." It _was_ a janitorial closet. A large yellow bucket on wheels with a blue-handled mop propped in it, warning signs for wet floors. A set of metal shelving with various sponges in plastic wrap, boxes of cloths specific to glass surfaces, wood, stainless steel. Bottles and jugs of soaps and cleaners, long-handled dusters for fans and blinds.

And, in one corner, the long narrow door of a wall-mounted box, painted to blend in, like an electrical or fuse-box.

"_Merlin_?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't speak. Again he stretched out his hand, and again the lock clicked open. He stared at a bank of black switches, neatly labeled in tiny square lettering. On the side, very near the lock mechanism, a small sliding catch. He quirked his finger, and the tongue slid through the groove. The bank of fuse switches swung forward just as the door of the box had done. Behind was a gap, a space, eight inches wide, three inches deep, maybe forty-five high.

And an object wrapped rather carelessly in paint-spattered canvas.

A memory swirled into his mind – waiting in the armory for Arthur and receiving the presence of his father, instead. Trying to carelessly cover and explain away a unique weapon, as Uther's interest piqued.

Merlin almost touched it. Then he thought better, and used his magic to draw the object from its place, lay it carefully on the unpainted concrete of the floor. The wrappings pulled themselves off, layer by layer, unhurried, folding themselves neatly as he went.

And there it was. Just exactly the same. He took a deep, shuddering breath, ran his hand along its length, an inch above the steel. Bright, and sharp, he was willing to bet. He could feel the echo of the dragon's familiar and long-missed power. Yes, they'd have a time dating this piece. The leather of the hilt was just a shade darkened by the water – almost perfectly preserved.

Perfectly so, he thought, until 1993. When its guardian, his lady, had left the lake for a new life in the New World.

"I have it," he whispered to Gwaine.

"_What? How?_"

The runes on the uppermost side read, Take Me Up. "Indeed," he whispered, feeling tears prick his eyes even as a grin split his face. "Time to come home."

He shrugged the sniper rifle case off his back and unsnapped it, opening it. He hesitated to touch his sovereign's sword, but after all, he was the last man to touch it, fifteen hundred years ago, throwing it to Freya's catch before it disappeared below the water's surface. His hands were cleaner now. No dirt, sweat, soot. No royal bloodstains.

He lifted it carefully, balanced flat on his fingers, laid it in the case and fastened the straps to hold it secure.

Then, in quick succession, he shut the case, the bank of fuses, and the box door, latching and locking, and lifting the paint-spattered canvas to an empty square of shelf. "Gwaine," he said, "Coming back out of the closet to that same hallway in three – two – one."

He let himself out of the janitorial closet, and turned to leave.

"Why did you take that?" A voice spoke behind him, a young boy's voice, calm and unemotional.

Merlin skidded to a stop, nearly losing his balance in his shock. Gone was the plan to go undetected. No matter what was done with or to this person, there would be evidence of Merlin's presence here tonight. But – he stared at the boy. Early teens, stocky and blonde. Sleepy, and dressed in adult-style pajamas, button-up and navy blue. At the end of the hallway, a section of ceiling tile had been lowered to show an old-fashioned drop-down attic stair.

"There's a fifth floor," he said in surprise.

In his earpiece, Gwaine responded, "_No, only four – what's going on? Why aren't you moving?_"

At the same time, the boy said, "Of course. Where else would I live?"

_Oh, hell_. Shane Littlefield, living in Halbyon, Seattle. Being allowed to go for a walk outside. After six weeks trusted to spend the night in a hotel. Merlin looked closer at the boy. "What's your name?" he said.

"Samuel West," the boy said. Merlin remembered an old school photo, transcriptions of interviews with mother and father, interrogation of the registered sex offender whom he'd proven innocent.

"_Merlin – time_!" Gwaine muttered insistently.

"You mind stepping in here with me for a minute?" he said, indicating the closet.

The boy's expression shifted from sleepy curiosity – _Santy Claus, why, why are you taking our Christmas tree, why?_ – to, "You think I'm stupid?" he said.

Merlin realized what it would look like, and very nearly laughed out loud. "Your mom's name is Dena, your dad's Samuel senior," he said. "You can trust me."

"_What_?" Gwaine said in his ear.

He repeated more insistently, hoping the knight waiting for him would understand. "Please trust me, give me just a few minutes."

"You've come to rescue me?" the boy said, sarcastically disbelieving.

"Do you mind?" Merlin said, again gesturing to the closet. "I'm trying to keep the cameras from catching my image."

The boy's gaze shifted over his shoulder to the camera at the end of the hall. "You promise not to hurt me?" he said, back from a teen's toughness to a child's uncertainty.

"I promise," Merlin said, and as the boy entered the closet with a doubtful backward glance, he raised and replaced the ceiling-stair at the end of the hall with a flick of magic. He locked the door behind them, saying, mostly for Gwaine's benefit, "Into the closet, and shut the door behind us." He seated himself cross-legged on the concrete floor, and after a brief hesitation, Samuel did the same. "Do you know what this is?" Merlin said, touching the part of the rifle case that jutted over his shoulder, its base resting now on the floor behind him.

"It's meant for a gun, but it's not a gun that's in there," the boy said. "It's special, what's in there, I can tell. You're special, too. Is that how you found it? Who are you?"

"I'll answer that in a minute," Merlin said. "First, can you tell me how long you've been here? And why you're here?"

"About two weeks," the boy said. "My parents were scared of me, so they sold me to Halbyon. I don't like it here. Their medicine makes me sick and dizzy and they try to tell me things that aren't true and then I can't tell what is true and I want to go home but I can't."

"Why not?" Merlin asked. He had to know if this boy was different from Shane, if he would accept help from Merlin, or call for it from Halbyon.

"The alarms," Samuel said. "I can repress the one on the stairs so they don't know I've come down – I come down at night when no one is around and play hide-and-seek with the guard but it's no fun when the other person doesn't even know they're playing – and, anyway, I can't do anything about the other alarms –" the boy's blonde eyebrows shot up. "But you can, can't you – that's how you got in."

"Do you want to leave with me?" Merlin said. "I can get you out of here and my friend will drive you somewhere they can help you get back home. I read that your parents are frantic to get you back – you were kidnapped, weren't you, your parents didn't sell you. That's another lie, don't you think?"

Hope dawned over the boy's face, so vulnerably transparent that Merlin's heart ached, for other boys he'd known who had been denied similar opportunities. "You think I can just go back home to my mom?" he said. Then the hope faded to suspicion. "Why would you help me?" he said. "You're just a thief."

"I'm like you," Merlin said. "Can you tell that?" He held out his hand, where a little flame danced.

"Cool," Samuel breathed. "So you handle fire? I never met anyone who can control elements. I'm not telekinetic, just telepathic-sensitive. But I'm getting better, I think." His expression shifted. "You said you were controlling the cameras, too. But you were talking to someone on that." He pointed to Merlin's collar-mounted mic. "You sure you don't work for Halbyon?" he said. "They're trying to collect all of us, I think."

"Never," Merlin said, giving the boy a grin to soften the tone of his voice.

"So who are you? What are you doing here? What is that and why are you taking it?"

"If we're going to go, we should go, don't you think?" Merlin suggested. "We can talk when we get to the car?" He stood, and the boy scrambled up beside him.

"Should I change?" he asked uncertainly. "I'm not even wearing shoes."

"How do we look for an extraction?" Merlin said to Gwaine. He hoped the knight had caught the gist of what was happening from the mic.

"_You're still in that closet_?"

"Yes."

"_Wait another forty seconds, then move your ass for the stairwell. Wait there another two seconds, then be on the first floor after another twenty. Got it?_"

"Got it. Loop the external circuits covering my exit, and come pick us up." Merlin took a position next to the door, reaching behind him for the boy's hand. "We don't have time for your shoes, Sammy," he told the boy. He counted down, clicked the lock over without speaking or touching it, waited – waited – and the door swung open.

Merlin pulled the boy behind him; they pelted silently down the hall, paused two seconds at the stairwell door before unlocking it. Continuing to follow Gwaine's instructions, he and Samuel exited the building, just as Gwaine pulled up in the green truck, leaning across the bench seat to open the passenger door. Merlin had never seen the roguish knight look as surprised as when the pajama-clad boy hopped up into the vehicle and buckled the seatbelt over the navy pajamas, his bare feet clearing the floorboards by inches.

Unstrapping the rifle case, Merlin slammed the door behind him, and Gwaine drove swiftly and efficiently out of Halbyon's parking lot. He reached across Samuel to retrieve his open laptop from the dashboard, recalculating their escape route. "We're clear," he said to Gwaine, typing furiously. "Take this route." He sent the course correction to the dash-mounted GPS.

Gwaine glanced at it, made a wide turn that swung Samuel into Merlin's side. "Seems you found more than you were looking for," Gwaine remarked.

"This is Samuel West," Merlin said. "He's a lot like Shane."

Gwaine gave Merlin a glance over the blonde head, understanding immediately. He grinned at Samuel, who looked up at him, surprisingly calm, then Gwaine tapped the screen of the GPS to check their destination. "Inova?" he said.

"The hospital?" Samuel said, startled. He gave Merlin an accusatory look. "You said we'd go to someone who could help."

"The hospital can make sure none of that bad medicine is in you anymore," Merlin said, and transferred his attention to Gwaine. "Have you got someone on the Fairfax PD you trust to handle this discreetly?"

"Keep our names out of it?" Gwaine thought. "Yeah, I know a guy." He shifted in the driver's seat to bring out his cell phone, at the same time as Merlin palmed his and turned it on, preparing to compose a text.

"Tomorrow or the next day, someone from the government may come to talk to you," Merlin told Samuel, typing simultaneously, **2****nd**** witness found hlbyn bldg. Sam west, like shane. Meet inova half-hour. Do not tell arthur. ** "You know what a testimony is? You're going to have to tell them everything you know and remember, only –" he met Gwaine's glance over the boy's head – "you have to leave us out of it. Tell them that you figured out how to de-activate the alarms and ran away, and that the police officer –"

"The friend of your friend," Samuel said.

"Hey, Gary," Gwaine said. "Yeah, I know what time it is. Listen, you know the name Samuel West?"

"You're going to say that he found you walking on the side of the road," Merlin said. His phone chimed a response from Chance: **Confirm**.

"Exactly," Gwaine said into the phone. "We found him, we're about eight miles from Inova. Need you to come take over from here; we've got to stay out of it, for various reasons."

"You're not going to tell me your name?" Samuel said forlornly, toying with the seatbelt. "Or what that special thing is?"

"I shouldn't," Merlin told him. "It could be dangerous for you, if you knew, dangerous for other people if you said anything."

"But I won't!" Samuel protested. "I'm really good at keeping secrets."

"You're right that it's special," Merlin allowed. "It belonged to my friend, a long time ago. And no one else should have it but my friend." Samuel fell silent. Merlin gave half his attention to his laptop, rearranging other surveillance equipment so there would be no recorded evidence of their trip.

"Ten minutes?" Gwaine said. "Fine, that'll work." He gave a chuckle at whatever the man on the other end of the call had said. "For a little lost sleep, you get to be a hero," Gwaine told him, ending the call.

"You know how Halbyon has that little sword in the picture of their name?" Samuel said suddenly, eyeing the rifle case leaning against Merlin's knee. "And that special thing that belongs to your friend, it's kind of like – it makes me feel like – when you think of that cartoon, with the boy who's a squire and the knight needs a sword for the tournament or something but the boy forgot and he pulls the sword out of the stone and there's a kind of singing you can hear. That's what that feels like. The sword in the stone. Only that was meant for Arthur – and you're not Arthur."

"No," Merlin said in some amusement. "I'm not Arthur."

Samuel shifted in his seat, and Gwaine slowed for a red light, his silence in the driver's seat attentive and wary. "But – he was an old man," the boy said in confusion.

"With a robe and a long white beard?" Gwaine said quietly, a laugh in his voice.

"I get that a lot," Merlin mumbled. "You know, Sammy, you can't say anything to anyone."

"Yeah, they'd never believe me," Samuel said. "They'd think I was crazy or something." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I know it." He turned a wide grin on Merlin as Gwaine pulled forward at the green light, only to ease to the curb, a block away from the hospital. "That's so _cool_," he enthused.

Merlin opened the door, stepped out onto the dimly-lit sidewalk to allow Samuel to get out of the truck. Gwaine leaned over the seat again to say, "My friend's name is Gary, he's going to be here in a few minutes. He's a retired police officer, so you'll be safe with him."

Samuel nodded at Gwaine. "Thanks. And thanks for the ride." He shifted his bare feet gingerly on the sidewalk. "Can I see it?" he asked Merlin wistfully.

"It's Arthur's." Merlin hesitated, halfway into the cab of the truck again. "But – maybe someday. I'll be in touch, if I can."

The boy nodded. "Okay." He stepped back, shoulders squared, head up, glancing up the street toward the hospital, then the other direction for the expected police officer. A pair of headlights pulled in behind them and Gwaine stuck his head out his rolled-down window and waved.

"Take care of yourself," Merlin said, checking over his shoulder to see an older man, the streetlight glinting off his gray hair, stand up from the driver's seat of the car. He turned back to give the boy a wide grin. "Use your magic for good," he added in a half-serious, half-joking way.

The boy smiled back as he began to side-step toward the older policeman's car. "Bye, Merlin," he said.

**A/N: I told you all it would be a quicker update, since I split the chapters into two!**

**Quote from Dr. Seuss "How the Grinch Stole Christmas".**


	15. Challenged

**Chapter 15: Challenged**

It wasn't the first time. Nor, Arthur reflected with a sigh, would it be the last, he was sure.

He turned down the cubicle-formed hallway toward Merlin's IT office. At least the door was open, today. That was a good sign. He stepped into the doorway and stopped as a memory struck him – Merlin in his desk chair, leaned far forward, intent upon his multi-screen computer system, finger flicking rapidly over the keyboard - three years ago, in this very place, almost in these very positions, he had come to apologize to Merlin for the juvenile file Gaius had shown him.

It reminded him of what Merlin had gone through in his childhood, the reason he hadn't remembered Arthur, the painful struggle when the memories had returned. It made Arthur doubly sorry for the words which recalled what was probably Merlin's worst nightmare. He'd said them out of fear for the sorcerer's disregard of personal safety, but they had been cruelly harsh. Merlin had dark memories of Camlann and afterward; Arthur had dark memories of Baltimore, and before. Even so, it did not excuse the words from his mouth that had hurt his friend.

The radio was on, soft country, barely audible except that the tune and lyrics were familiar. _Uptown got its hustlers… the bowery got its bums…_

Arthur cleared his throat. "Morning," he said neutrally.  
Merlin paused only briefly to glance at the time shown at the bottom right of his computer screen. "I'm not late yet," he murmured.

"No." Actually, Arthur had wondered if Merlin would show up for either meeting, today. He stepped further into the room. "Merlin, I wanted to say something to you – I wanted to-"

Merlin swung his chair around. "Please don't apologize," he said.

"Well, what do you want me to say, then?" Arthur asked. Apologies had never come easily to him, it was maybe because his father never had apologized for anything, maybe because of the principle instilled in him from childhood, that a man in a position of authority never apologized to those beneath him.

Merlin gave him a wide grin. "As I am already here at work, bright and early," he said, "perhaps you could threaten me with laundry or stablework? I could polish your sword?" His eyes fairly danced.

_Well, outta south Alabama come a country boy…_

Arthur promptly forgot what he'd planned to say. There was something about his friend this morning, something more than the royal-blue collared shirt and red tie so reminiscent of his friend's habitual garb. Something that was totally different from the way he'd last seen the sorcerer – pale and shocked and angry, storming out of Arthur's office to lock himself away from the world for nearly two days.

It was almost a palpable sensation Arthur could feel emanating from his friend. A sense of deep joy, of utter satisfaction, of priceless triumph. _He said, I'm lookin' for a man named Jim…_ Curious, Arthur glanced over Merlin's shoulder at the screens, showing the black-and-white image of surveillance camera footage, a nondescript carpeted hallway, closed doors. _I am a pool-shootin' boy, my name is Willie McCoy… But down home they call me Slim…_

Merlin stood, the flash of gold from his eyes darkening the screens simultaneously. "We've got meetings, Arthur," he said, grabbing a dark-brown corderoy jacket from the back of his chair.

"And being late never bothered you before." Arthur studied his friend. "What is going on with you, Merlin?" he said, blocking Merlin's exit at the door. "There's something you're not telling me."

Merlin cocked his head, still with that oddly jubilant smile. "Before we went to Seattle," he said finally, "I spent a little time on a kidnapping case. A twelve-year-old boy. Last night, I found him." _Last week he took all my money, and it may sound funny…_

"Good," Arthur said, smiling in relief, and pride in his friend. Yes, that was exactly Merlin – soothe his own hurt and grief by helping someone else. Hard work and solitude and magic – and victory. "Well done, then, Merlin."

Merlin ducked his head as if embarrassed of the praise. "A Round Table meeting, then we ride to Halbyon," he said, and pushed past Arthur to lead the way to the third-floor conference room. _But I come to get my money back_…

Arthur smiled wryly at the comparison – except, Merlin had never anticipated confrontation, before. His funny feelings had produced a kind of edgy gloom, not euphoria. The best defense, hm? "You're still planning to come, then?" he said.

"I always go with you into danger, don't I?" Merlin said off-handedly. "Don't suppose I could persuade you to wear chainmail under your suit? or Kevlar?" He tossed an irreverent grin over his shoulder that reminded Arthur of nothing so much as his servant grabbing an extra blade from the table and announcing his intention of facing the dragon with Arthur – without training, without armor.

But he had been a dragonlord.

Why did that realization make Arthur feel at once more relieved and more apprehensive about the meeting with Halbyon? It was not exactly reassuring that the young sorcerer treated the expectation of danger so casually.

"I think you've been spending too much time with Gwaine," Arthur observed.

Merlin threw back his head and laughed out loud.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

They drove Merlin's black Pathfinder, Percival and Gwaine in the front seats, dressed similarly in white shirts and black trousers, boots rather than dress shoes. Each, Arthur knew, had concealed-carry permits, but today they wore sidearms openly displayed on their belts.

Gwaine, in the driver's seat, couldn't seem to stop yawning, and it wasn't doing anything to settle Arthur's nerves. "We're not keeping you up, are we?" he said sharply.

"Sorry, sire," Gwaine responded. "Late night." Beside Arthur in the back seat, Merlin snickered.

"You could have stayed in Camelot to take a nap," Arthur reminded him. "Elyan could have come."

Halbyon, Incorporated had a small visitor's parking lot at the front of the building, a square construction, more concrete than window-glass. Their own flag – containing a glittering upright sword – fluttered just below the Stars and Stripes and Virginia's _Sic Semper Tyrannis_.

The four men stepped out of the Pathfinder and assembled on the front walk – the sorcerer just behind and beside Arthur, the former Army lieutenant and the former police officer, the _knights_ flanking them. Arthur bared his teeth at the front of the building.

"On me," he said. It was a joke, and a reminder than they were heading into enemy territory.

The lobby area was different than Camelot's, as well. The receptionist's desk was central, horseshoe-shaped with a high ledge nearly obscuring the young woman seated there. The visitor waiting area was a dark corner flush with fabric foliage, and the air was absolutely still. There was none of the light, the air, the bustle of cheerful industry that Arthur felt whenever he entered Camelot.

This building, this company, was listening. Was waiting.

Arthur's shoulders twitched, as if he could physically throw off whatever echo of Merlin's funny feelings he was sharing. As the young receptionist rose to greet them, Wendy Doran rushed from a hallway to the side, breathless and excited in a dark gray suit, the skirt of which fell mid-calf, a tan file tucked under her arm.

"Oh! Arthur, you're here!" she gushed. "Or – maybe I should say, Mr. Drake? We have a few minutes before Mr. Summerall will meet with us, but I can show you to the conference room – only," she hesitated, her eyes flicking over the men behind Arthur, her attention captured by the weapons displayed by the two acting bodyguards. "Only, it's a private meeting?" she finished.

"Wendy Doran," Arthur said calmly, "my associates Gavin Kraft, formerly of Fairfax police department, and Peter Spiers. Formerly of the U.S. Army." He'd brought his own witnesses, today.

Clearly impressed, Wendy invited them, "Please make yourselves comfortable," gesturing to the waiting area.

"We shouldn't be more than an hour," Arthur informed Gwaine and Percival, and they nodded, understanding. _Be on your guard. Wait for my signal_. He and Merlin were to continue alone as anticipated; Merlin moved out from behind Arthur.

"Oh – _Merlin_!" Wendy exclaimed, then covered her mouth with both hands. "I _am_ so sorry, do you prefer Marvin? Or Mr. Caroban?"

A smile of amusement twitched Merlin's lips, and Arthur found himself suddenly curious at the sorcerer's oddly relaxed demeanor. It wasn't at all the edginess he'd expected, as they'd crept forward into an expected ambush, but instead a cool aloofness, as though it was _Merlin's_ trap to spring. He put his hand forward. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Doran," he said. "Merlin is fine."

Wendy was pink with pleasure, and self-consciousness. She looked at his hand for a fascinated moment, then reached to touch it swiftly. "If you would follow me?" she breathed, gazing between them for a moment before turning and leading them down a hallway that gave Arthur a touch of claustrophobia. And a hint of familiarity – he frowned to himself before Merlin distracted him by speaking.

"I understand you have me at something of a disadvantage, Ms. Doran," the sorcerer commented, sauntering at Arthur's side. "You know far more about me than I do about you." She looked over her shoulder, slowing, and Merlin lengthened his stride to draw even with her. Arthur, for his part, was content to walk behind, to observe not only Wendy, VP of Personnel Acquisitions, but Merlin the legendary sorcerer in an inexplicably confident mood. "You probably know all of my stories," Merlin added. There was the faintest hint of a warning, a gently tantalizing suggestion of confirmation to what Wendy already whole-heartedly believed.

"Oh, there are so many," she said, stopping at the elevators and looking at the two of them. Arthur reached to push the call button that she'd evidently forgotten. "You are both so _young_, still! It's harder to believe, looking at you, than if you were forty, or so…" The doors slid open as the compartment settled, and they stepped on.

"You know, Ms. Doran -" Merlin said.

"Oh, Wendy, please."

"You know, Wendy, we don't do a great deal of reminiscing, ourselves," the sorcerer smiled, giving her an enigmatic little smile. "Leave the past in the past. I'm more interested in –"

"Oh," she said in a disappointed way. "Oh, dear, that's so unfair. That's like – like Richard the Lionheart or Columbus saying, _well, there's really nothing to tell_."

"Perhaps," Merlin suggested, "perhaps we might find other topics of mutual interest to discuss?"

"Your work," Wendy blurted, and glanced at Arthur to see if he would object. "Your abilities? At least tell me this – did you study with anyone, originally? I mean, I guess, maybe druids… but where did you learn it all? How did you go about your training?"

Merlin gave Arthur a small intimate smile. "Well, most of it is intuitive, actually," he said. "I had a book, once, and a mentor."

Her eyes lit. "Oh, wonderful!" she said. "That is, actually, _exactly_ what I wanted to discuss with –"

The elevator chimed the notice that they had arrived at the fourth – and top – floor. Arthur ushered Wendy out to the hallway, and reached back to hold the door open as Merlin lingered, glancing upward. "This is as far up as the elevator goes," Merlin said, a little question in his voice.

Wendy shook her head in mild confusion. "There's only four floors," she said. Arthur abruptly recognized the hallway for the grainy black-and-white image on Merlin's office computer, and recognized the source of Merlin's confidence. He'd been _researching_. Arthur wished now they'd discussed Merlin's findings before coming.

"Tell me something," Merlin said, and Arthur let the elevator doors shut as he joined them. "Do you have any employees of your parapsychological department here, now?"

"Of course – would you like to meet them?" Wendy brightened, once again, leading them down the corridor. "Mr. Summerall has a few for his private security detail, and, I think, one or two in training."

"Without compromising the contract, and without committing to anything definite," Merlin said, with a little bow in Arthur's direction, "I should be fascinated to learn about the procedures within that department."

Arthur smirked to himself. _He_ was fascinated to see this side of Merlin – he'd seen a cheerful hard worker, he'd seen a snarly antisocial teen, he'd seen the sorcerer lost and powerless, angry and vengeful. Devious Merlin was a thrill to watch, as if Merlin was on a stage, playing a role only Arthur was aware of, an audience of one.

"Oh, would you?" Wendy beamed. "Maybe, if Arthur and Mr. Summerall can spare a few minutes of your time – there's the proficiency and potential test, there's the drills and exercises and simulations – though you'll be far beyond all that I'm sure – but maybe a demonstration?" Wendy fairly bounced as she walked – a kid at Christmas, hell, this was Santa Claus and the Easter bunny and a couple of Pilgrims setting off Fourth of July fireworks on Valentine's Day.

"A demonstration." Merlin glanced at Arthur and the expression in his blue eyes was diabolically innocent. "We'll see if we can manage that."

Arthur stopped in the doorway as Wendy and Merlin entered a conference room similar to the one they'd had their Round Table meeting in, barely an hour ago. _Oh, hell_. What had he done? Merlin's effervescence scared him a little, now. He knew something Arthur did not. He _planned_ something Arthur did not. _Careful, Merlin_, he wanted to say. _Oh, be careful_.

A door at the far end of the room opened, and an older man, every white hair combed carefully in place, impeccable three-piece black suit, yellow tie in a paisley-swirl pattern, entered from what was probably his private office beyond. Arthur caught a flash of dark gleaming wood and plush crimson before the door closed. The man turned, his gray eyes sharp and clever, taking in Arthur, then Wendy and Merlin beyond Arthur's peripheral vision.

"Mr. Summerall," Wendy sounded more subdued than Arthur had ever heard her, "This is Arthur Drake. And Marvin Caroban."

The older CEO was almost a foot shorter than Arthur, compact and confident to the point of arrogance, as he stepped forward to shake Arthur's hand. "_May_ I call you Arthur," he said. "Mr. Drake - won't do at all."

"Certainly – Mr. Summerall." Arthur had been underestimated due to his youth, before. It might work to his advantage, here.

Merlin was suddenly at his side, close enough that their sleeves brushed as the young sorcerer fairly took Halbyon CEO's hand away from Arthur's. The amusement had fallen away, leaving a cold edge to Merlin's controlled demeanor. And a sense of recognition, somehow.

Arthur remembered something from the pain-fogged last days of his previous lifetime, an incident that stood out with startling clarity. That split-second switch when Merlin had gone from a peasant boy begging two Saxon soldiers for help to a sternly powerfully warrior protecting his injured king. The friendly-helpless pretence had dropped in just the same way. This was the Merlin of legend, whose endless and sacrificial compassion could turn into implacable enmity when a loved one was threatened.

He wondered if Claude Summerall truly recognized who he had invited into his home. The refrain of the song playing in Merlin's office that morning sprang into Arthur's mind. _You don't tug on Superman's cape… you don't spit into the wind… you don't pull the mask off the old Lone Ranger…_

"And Arthur's Merlin," Summerall continued, giving the sorcerer a minimal salutation.

"My lord." Merlin's tone was mildly ironic, bordering on disrespectful.

"You don't mind me saying Merlin?" the older man continued.

"Many have," Merlin allowed. "Some still do." It wasn't, Arthur realized, exactly a permission for informality, nor yet an admission of identity. Merlin, it seemed, had been playing attention, fifteen centuries ago. A closet politician.

"Please have a seat," Summerall invited, gesturing as he took his place at the head of the long rectangular table. Arthur was tempted for a moment to take the foot, opposite him and a dozen places down, but felt the balance of power was too unstable as it was. Instead, he circled behind Summerall to hold a seat for Wendy at the older man's right hand, and took the next seat down from her. Merlin left one seat vacant between himself and the CEO to sit directly opposite Arthur. "About this merger," Summerall said condescendingly, "I rather thought your manager Rick Hennessy would be joining us today."

"Rick and I are in agreement," Arthur said calmly. Perhaps the older man did not believe he was the King Arthur of legend, merely an inexperienced young man trying to fill his father's position. "We are not opposed to the terms as they have been proposed – the decision is mine to make, when and if I choose."

"Indeed," Summerall said. "Perhaps you could explain your hesitation?"

"I refer you to section four-point-two on page nine," Arthur said. Wendy scrambled to open the file, and Arthur paused so she could find the relevant page. With Merlin making himself scarce the previous day, Arthur had busied and distracted himself going through the paperwork with a fine-tooth comb, which had resulted in near-memorization familiarity. Wendy gave him a grateful look. "The wording concerns me in the clause detailing the proprietary development of assets. You envision, I suppose, a dovetailing of your personnel with our technological advances, especially in the domain of our Securities office?"

"Of course, that is all we had in mind," Summerall said, too quickly, after only a cursory glance at the paragraph Wendy pointed out.

"You did not anticipate making shared use of certain of our human resources?" Arthur chided gently. Summerall's eyes flicked oh-so-briefly toward Merlin. "Our IT department, perhaps? My wizard with computers?"

Wendy shifted uncertainly in her seat, her eyes trying to take in all three of them at once, then focused on Merlin. "I'm sure it wasn't meant to be a trick," she said. "It's just –" she flinched at a fleeting look from her CEO. She sat back in her seat, but continued imploringly, "Your skills would be invaluable to our department of acquisitions, especially to the parapsych –"

Summerall interrupted her by clearing his throat. "Ms. Doran has a tendency, occasionally, to be excessively eager," he said contemptuously. "In this case, however," he spread his hands expansively, "she is correct." He gave a theatrical sigh. "I judge you to be a man of action, not words, am I right, Arthur? Let me be frank – merger aside, what would it take to buy the contract from you?"

Arthur controlled his features. Action, yes, but a prince was trained to be a statesman as much as a warrior. Strategy of the battlefield and boardroom alike. But what a skewed view they seemed to have of Merlin, of all magic-users.

"Mr. Summerall," he said, "you could sign your company over to me entire, and all your personal assets, and it would in no way begin to approach the worth of this man to me." He didn't meet Merlin's eyes – _and if you ever repeat that to anyone, _Mer_lin, I will buy a whole _farm_ of horses to make you muck out_.

Something glinted in the older man's eye. He pursed his lips. "What of an amended contract?" he said. "Not a strict transfer of ownership, but joint entitlement to the benefits of talent? A consultant's position, perhaps? I am prepared to make you an offer of a specific… personal… asset."

Wendy said confusedly, "Sir, we haven't discussed –"

He cut her off by raising the fingers of one hand from the tabletop. "I know you know what I mean," he said, and his eyes fairly glittered. "_Artorius_."

Arthur couldn't help pushing his chair back from the table a few inches. "You would trade me," he said deliberately, incredulous, "Excalibur, for Merlin?" He didn't know whether to laugh or swear.

"That is a significant offer," Merlin said, and Arthur resisted the urge to look at him, there was something just off in his voice, something even Arthur found hard to define - _hilarity_? "Perhaps we should consider it."

"Mr. Summerall," Wendy said, aghast. "The Artorius Blade? You would give it to him?" Arthur didn't know her well enough to tell if she was wholly for such a choice or wholly against it.

"Perhaps I should see the weapon," Arthur suggested evenly. What was Merlin getting at? Did he plan to somehow snatch the sword and run? Lay hands on it and vanish? He didn't see how the sorcerer could possibly expect to get away with it – and surely he didn't think Arthur would seriously consider this option. "Make my own evaluation of its value? To be able to negotiate for my employee's time and talents." Then again, if Summerall was this desperate for Merlin, perhaps Arthur could use that to his advantage…

Summerall's hand shifted slightly, curling below the edge of the table. Otherwise he didn't move, and Arthur had only a moment to wonder, before the door to the CEO's office behind Summerall opened, and two men came through.

Arthur was still processing the visual image of the two men – ordinary in dark suits, short haircuts, bland expressions – when he realized that Merlin had also pushed his chair back from the table, and raised his hand in a little stay-back gesture that might seem innocuous – but Arthur had seen it before. He'd seen it when Merlin had faced Xander. He'd seen it when Hyden had pointed his pistol on the Fort Bragg range. He'd seen it atop a bare windy hill when two armed Saxons approached. Merlin's defense reflex was _fast_.

No one else took any notice. The two men carried between them a long case of gleaming warm oak, and set it on a side table behind Wendy. Summerall fished out a small key on a chain from around his neck, and held it out to the side, his eyes on Arthur all the while.

One of the suited guards took the key and chain, unlocked the wooden case, and raised the lid with a flash of red velvet. Then waited. Everyone waited, their eyes on Arthur – except for Merlin, who watched Summerall like a hunting tiger.

Arthur pushed his chair back and rose. Wendy was at his side before he reached the case, eager as a puppy, which might have been pathetic in a woman of her age, but for the earnest quality of her naiveté.

"Is it?" she breathed. "Is it, is it?"

The two guards stepped back; Merlin and Summerall remained in their seats. Arthur gazed down into the case.

It gleamed. Silver along the edge, rune-inscribed gold inlay along two-thirds of the core. Leather-bound hilt wrapped with fine gold wire for a beautiful and functional grip. The symbolized full sun on the pommel. Just as he remembered.

His heart pounded with the effort of controlling his reaction. It did not do, in negotiations, to let the other party know how badly you wanted what they had. He lifted his head to meet Summerall's gaze – such knowing condescension. Beyond him, Merlin's expression was nothing like the shining wonder he'd seen when Merlin had led him to this sword, embedded in a rock in the middle of a clearing drenched in sunlight, dozens of his people gathered to show their support and encouragement in one of his darkest times.

Merlin met his eyes with a smile of private amusement. _What do you know that I don't?_

"May I?" he said only, to Summerall, with a gesture toward the case.

The older man's hesitation was infinitesimal. "By all means," he said magnanimously. "Only, do be careful."

"Mr. Summerall," Wendy scolded, backing up two steps, herself. "You know that _he_ knows how to handle it."

Arthur reached with his right hand, lifted the sword from its red velvet nest, briefly wishing he'd taken off his suit coat for ease of movement. He moved past Wendy to the far end of the conference room, hefting the sword. It looked perfect – the preservation amazing. He wondered if he had Freya to thank for that, or whether some team of Summerall's had restored it. The leather of the hilt felt – renewed, somehow, not hardened by battle-grip, sweat and blood. There was more give to it, and the gold wire might have shifted by millimeters.

"What do the runes say?" Merlin said casually, lightly.

Wendy gasped, "Oh! what _do_ the runes say?"

"Don't you already know?" Summerall said patronizingly.

Arthur spun the sword in a circle next to his right side, stepped through half a dozen training forms - two defensive positions, four pseudo-attacks.

It looked perfect. But the balance was all wrong. Only an expert would know it, would realize it, only someone who'd studied swordcraft, who'd spent their lives creating weaponry for actual use, someone who'd used one – who'd fought for their lives and the lives of their loved ones – would be able to tell.

He turned back. "Excellent," he pronounced, and Wendy actually bounced on her heels, her fingertips covering her mouth in awe. Summerall had one eyebrow quirked sardonically. The smile hovering around Merlin's lips threatened his friend's composure as he met Arthur's eyes.

No. The sorcerer lounged in his chair – if this had been Arthur's sword, pulled magically from the stone that morning they both remembered, legendary Excalibur, Merlin would have been on his feet. How did he know? Could he tell that this was not the genie's lamp, even from across the room?

"It is," Arthur began to saunter back around the table, "very well done." He stopped behind Merlin's chair, and both of them looked at Summerall. "A perfect replica."

The older man's face lost all expression. "A replica?" Wendy said. "I don't understand."

"Claude," Merlin said reproachfully, "you surely didn't expect to fool _him_, did you?" He leaned forward fractionally, daring the man to respond with his tone, "Why not bring out the real one?" The older man's gaze sharpened on Merlin's face, as if he was seeing Merlin for the first time – or seeing past the slender frame and tousled hair and wide blue eyes, to a genuine _threat_.

Arthur passed behind Summerall's chair to replace the sword in the case, closed it again. "A test, was it?" he said, returning to the table, but leaning over the back of his chair instead of sitting down. "This time for me, to see if I was the genuine article? You sent the message, sent Shane Littlefield to disable the jet to see if the mighty Merlin was up to the challenge, and today was my turn."

Wendy stuttered, "Sent – message – jet – Mr. Summerall?"

"Do you see this?" Arthur continued, holding up his left hand, as his right slipped into the pocket, fingered the device there surreptitiously. In the brilliant fluorescent overhead light, the white scars stood out on the tanned skin of his fingers and hand. "No one died, but there were injuries. This was mine." He turned his hand over, making sure the older man got a good look. Wendy stepped stiffly to his side, and murmured something forlornly unintelligible. "Some of his best work, if I do say so myself," Arthur said.

Summerall lifted his eyes from Arthur's hand to Arthur's face, then turned to look at Merlin, who gave him one of the sweetest, purest smiles Arthur had ever seen on his friend's face.

"Something about that contract," Arthur said, paused, and smiled. "It is worth nothing more than the paper it's printed on."

Wendy's eyes widened, and even Summerall looked slightly off-balanced. "I'm sorry, I don't take your meaning," he said.

"I'm certain you make use of similar contracts," Arthur said. "Tying an employee to the company? Restricting their work for your own use? Claiming ownership of their intellectual property? Commanding obedience, perhaps?"

"That is a callous interpretation," Summerall objected, "but yes, every corporation requires such contracts."

"The contract was my idea," Merlin said softly. The two of them stared at him. "I found myself highly annoyed by persistent offers, and it was a convenient excuse. I am a free agent, and I stay with Arthur by choice." He leaned slightly forward, his eyes intense. "As you should well know."

Arthur checked his watch. The hour allotted for their meeting was just about up. "You know," he said conversationally, drifting around the back of the older man's chair as Merlin stood and straightened his jacket, "men like us, Summerall, in a position of power and wealth – we can get away with a hell of a lot, if we put our mind to it. We can bribe and steal and kidnap, and call it convincing and appropriating and employing. We can write our own laws..." He smiled whimsically, before hardening his expression. "We can get away with murder, if we apply our influence and our affluence cleverly enough."

Summerall was stony-faced, Wendy white and wide-eyed with shock. The two guards might have been statues for all their expressions betrayed.

"Two things that money can't buy?" Arthur added. "Loyalty and integrity. And you can't truly have one without the other. When all the rest catches up to you – and it will – you consider those two words. Well, Mr. Summerall, I believe our business here today is concluded. We have nothing more to discuss on either the question of the merger or the employee contracts that Camelot holds."

"Time for us to go?" Merlin said to Arthur – needlessly, in his opinion. Then he added to the room at large, "Go west, young man. Go. West."

Summerall froze for an instant, then rose from his seat, pushing it back. Rage rose thunderously in the older man's eyes, in his countenance as a flush. Somehow, Arthur knew, Merlin was baiting him. Perhaps the sorcerer had hoped to provoke a confrontation here and now, a justifiable excuse for eliminating their enemy.

Arthur wished only to retire from the field with a temporary truce, allowing them to continue to gather evidence surreptitiously without endangering anyone around them.

"Gentlemen." Summerall gathered his dignity back around him, though his voice was strained with the effort. "_This should not be goodbye_." He made a motion with his head, and the nearer of the two guards moved to open the door of the conference room for Arthur and Merlin.

They were both facing the interior of the room. Merlin was closer to the door, as Arthur had unconsciously angled his body defensively between his friend and their enemy.

Wendy's eyes widened, and Arthur turned his head to catch a flash of motion just behind Merlin – who never even flinched as his eyes blazed golden fire.

Another suited guard was frozen in place halfway through the open door, syringe extended, thumb on the plunger. A drop of clear liquid glittered on the sharp end of the needle, dripped onto the collar of Merlin's brown corduroy jacket.

The guard who'd opened the door retreated a step, his eyes flicking uncertainly to his employer. Wendy moaned a faint phrase that could have been a curse or a prayer. Shock showed on Summerall's face.

Arthur found he was holding his breath. If he wasn't, he might have said aloud, ironically, _And you don't mess around with Slim…_

"This has been tried before," Merlin remarked. "I wonder, what connections might I find between Claude Summerall, CEO of Halbyon, Incorporated, and Dr. Andrew Spell, the terrorist known as Xander?" The tip of the syringe was still only an inch from his neck. Into the utter stillness of the room, Merlin added a dangerously serious warning in a near-whisper. "Be careful."

Arthur heard_, I am Emrys_.

In the hallway behind the statue-like attacker, Percival's voice sounded, "Mr. Drake, are you in need of our assistance?" They had responded to his pre-arranged electronic signal. Arthur deliberately prolonged the moment. Wendy Doran, Claude Summerall, two security officers, as well as himself, Merlin, and his own two knight-bodyguards – all witnesses to this incriminating scene.

Gwaine slid into the room, his back against the door, to see for himself that they were unharmed. "All right there, mate?" he said to Merlin.

"No charges will be pressed," Merlin said mildly, sidling around the outstretched needle.

"This time," Arthur added. He unfolded the decorative handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suitcoat and covered his fingers to leave no prints as he extricated the syringe from the frozen fingers. "I do believe I'll be taking this with us, this little piece of evidence," he said, "as it was clearly intended for my associate."

He backed out the door, folding the cloth around the syringe and handing it to Gwaine, who backed down the hallway behind them as Percival took point to lead them to the elevator. Arthur glanced back over Gwaine's shoulder to see someone drag the assailant into the room. No one else emerged.

"What the hell, Merlin?" Arthur said, once they were inside the elevator.

Merlin was entirely unrepentant. "The best defense," he said, "is a good offense."

Percival said, "What happened?"

"Bear-baiting, is what happened," Arthur muttered.

"Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons," Merlin said mildly, "for you are crunchy and good with ketchup."

Percival snorted, and Gwaine snickered, "Gee-damn, Merlin." The elevators opened to release them.

"That's not a good strategy in this situation," Arthur snapped as they wasted no time traveling the hallway back to the lobby. "We have minimal evidence that's circumstantial at best, no objective witnesses - they still have the sword _and_ the inclination to threaten innocent people to get what they want."

Gwaine glanced at Merlin, who said, "Well, you're _half_ right, Arthur –"

The lobby of Halbyon, Incorporated was not the still silent waiting room they had left an hour ago. There were half a dozen men spread through the room – two in uniform, four in plain-clothes – exuding the controlled aggression and highly-trained capability of guard dogs or law enforcement. Arthur reacted instantly by shoving Merlin behind him, as Percival and Gwaine simultaneously reached for their firearms –

"Whoa, boys," the man in the lead said, an older man with graying hair and an air of confidence that reminded Arthur of Gibson Chance, and the Baltimore chief of police. In the pause, he recognized one of the men in the rear of the group as an NSA agent he'd been introduced to before. "Kraft? What are you doing here? I thought we agreed–"

Gwaine gave Arthur a sheepish glance. "I know, Gary," he said. "Can I explain later?" Percival relaxed, and Arthur only minimally.

"Only if you swear to tell the truth," the man said, evaluating the four of them. "Okay – get out of here. Unless you want to stay in the middle of this mess while we serve the warrant."

"No, thanks." Gwaine spoke for all of them, and the man with graying hair, Gary, nodded to his men to let them leave.

Arthur stopped on the front sidewalk before they reached Merlin's black Pathfinder. "What. The. Hell." Percival, he saw, was just as much in the dark, figuratively speaking, as he was, though the big knight wore his customary calm roll-with-it demeanor.

Gwaine and Merlin, though, exchanged the guilty looks of adolescents caught in their misdeed. Gwaine tried a winning smile at Arthur. "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do…" Arthur cut him off with a growl.

"I was going to tell you everything," Merlin said, giving Arthur a pleading look from under the untidy fringe of black hair fallen over his forehead. "It's kind of a long –"

"Oh, please, please wait!" Wendy's voice called after them from the front door of the building. All four turned as one, Percival stepping to intercept the woman rushing toward them, though the NSA agent Arthur recognized stood at the door, watching. There were tears on Wendy's face, her sensible low-heeled pumps in her hand as though she'd taken them off to run, as she gasped out, "I am so, so sorry. I never thought, I never meant – I can't believe –"

Merlin stepped around Percival to take Wendy by the shoulders. "Just breathe for a moment," he told her gently.

She nodded, obeying him literally. "I can't believe that Mr. Summerall – oh, but it's true," she moaned. "Our people, my department – he's been using them, hasn't he? That girl Julie – she didn't sign on her birthday after she was missing for a year and a half, she wasn't released at her request – I can't believe I didn't _see_. I trusted him – we all trusted him –" She sobbed, and Merlin demonstrated another deep breath, which she imitated obediently. "You're back," she said to Arthur, in a tone of complete misery, then looked up at Merlin. "You're both _back_. I've _worked_ for Halbyon, because of the sword, because I wanted to help people who were special, and I waited and I hoped –"

"Who was it?" Merlin said. "Someone you loved, who was close to you, was special?"

"My cousin," Wendy said. "We were three months apart in age. She could hear my voice in her mind even when we were miles apart. I never could do that with anyone else, and neither could she. They told us it was impossible, told us to stop." She sobbed again, and Arthur was not surprised to see unshed tears in his young friend's eyes, either. "She struggled with depression for years – she was so angry with me – and then she – she –"

"You don't have to say it, Wendy," Merlin told her softly. "It isn't your fault, it isn't hers, either. It's hard, I know." He pushed his sleeves up his wrist, unfastened the wide wristband of his watch.

Arthur watched in disbelief – both knights turned toward them, also startled – as Merlin showed her what he hid from everyone. Three white lines, scars from his own attempts to escape a reality unaccepted by those around him.

She reached out and touched the inside of his wrist with trembling fingertips. "Even _you_?" she marveled, looking up into his face. "But – but now don't you _see_? Why we need you? So they will know, so everyone will know – it's okay to be special?"

A deep longing passed over Merlin's face like a shadow over the sun. Arthur had seen it before, when discussing Xander's plot to spread the Emrys strain – and magical abilities – to others, when Arthur had revealed Halbyon's intentions – _they want you for your magic_. Merlin hid his reaction by refastening his watch.

A whole department of people like Merlin, Gwaine had said. No one is like Merlin, Arthur had answered.

"Wendy," Arthur said, and she turned to him hopefully. "I'm afraid it's not that easy." Especially not with a warrant, an NSA agent – the investigation heating up? Why hadn't Chance called him? "You're going to need to be very careful – with what you know or suspect about your boss, you could be in danger. Keep your head down, let the authorities handle it."

"Cautiously," Merlin said, adjusting the cuff of his coat over the deep blue sleeve of his shirt, "and legally." Arthur very nearly smacked the back of his head.

"Yes," Wendy said, sighing in disappointment. "Yes, I see. I understand." She started to turn away, then said, "I'm sorry. I truly am. I was so excited to find you, to prove to Mr. Summerall it _was_ you – I never dreamed it would put you in danger."

"Don't worry about us," Merlin told her consolingly, patting her shoulder.

Arthur heaved a sigh and gave her a reassuring sort of grimace. "We, Ms. Doran, have been in danger before."

_And will be again, no doubt_.

**A/N: Alrighty, all you lucky people – three chapters in three days. Unprecedented, and likely won't happen again. Ever. You're welcome. :D**


	16. Lifted

**Chapter 16: Lifted**

Arthur's eyes were tired. His body was tired, the muscles of his shoulders and neck so sore he could not relax for long in any one position. He was cross, and had been cross for a long time. He lay in bed and didn't sleep, the tension in his body increasing the discomfort that made sleep impossible, and the sleeplessness increasing his irritability.

He had a headache that acetaminophen wouldn't touch, a vague nausea through the rest of him. He wanted ice water, but couldn't be bothered to get up for it. The hall light glowed brighter as the bedroom door eased open, and he flopped to his back, tucking one arm behind his head, staring up toward the vague movement of the ceiling fan.

Gwen paused in the doorway, her blue-green nightshirt showing bare leg from the knee down. Her arms were empty – she was just coming back from feeding Andrew. She was looking at him; he glanced at the clock. 4:56. She left the light on, soft and indirect, and came to him, propping the pillows on her side up against the headboard.

"It's time to talk," she said.

"It's 4:56 am," he returned.

"You're not sleeping," she pointed out. After a pause she added, "Are you still mad at Merlin?"

He swallowed, closing his eyes briefly. "Part of me is, and part of me isn't."

She laughed softly, reaching to push his hair back from his forehead. "That frustration goes both ways, though, doesn't it?" she said. "How many times, do you think, did he feel the same way when you put yourself in danger, before?"

He growled, "It is not the same thing."

She said reasonably, "You either trust him, or you don't. Worrying for his safety is fine; he worries about yours. But you don't control each other, that's not the way a partnership works."

He pushed himself up on his elbow to face her. "Exactly. How can it work if one person goes off on his own like Merlin did, and leaves the other completely in the dark?" He'd told her Merlin's story of his little foray into Halbyon's building, intent on stealing the Artorius Blade, how they'd been interrupted by little Samuel West.

"Okay," she said slowly. "What is it that you're upset about – the fact that he did something dangerous? or illegal? or without you?"

"Yes!" Arthur snarled.

"Or the fact that he let you walk into the meeting with Summerall without telling you – so that your hands and your conscience were clean?"

"Yes." He knew he sounded like a sulky child. _Damn plausible deniability_! he'd exploded when Merlin had given that as his excuse.

"Or," Gwen said deliberately, "are you mad about the way the rest of the week went after that, and just blaming him?"

Arthur slumped back onto his pillow, closing his eyes. The rest of the week. Just the thought made his muscles tense and his headache stir again. Hours of testimony with Chance, with other NSA officers, with the police, walking on verbal eggshells about their investigation into the downed aircraft, their own survived crash, the missing-persons cases on Julie Wild, on Shane Littlefield, on Samuel West.

Learning, in the middle of that, the exact cocktail of drugs that filled the syringe aimed for the vein in the side of Merlin's neck. Learning what effect it would have had on his friend – and the myriad and diverse suppositions his imagination had supplied for the minutes following such an occurrence. The hours, the days…

It was a little humiliating, however, to know that however much time he spent answering questions and assimilating unknown information, it was the opposite for Merlin. Far more questions for the sorcerer to answer, and far fewer gaps in his knowledge to fill in. It hurt Arthur's pride. And he hadn't gotten to spend more than five minutes with Merlin, it seemed , since Wednesday morning. Just a quick _how you holding up?_ A glance with an unspoken _be careful what you say_. _You knew_ that? And, _Forgive me_.

Lying in the bed beside his wife, Arthur remembered the poignant song Merlin had chosen to speak to him, the first Thanksgiving the Round Table had spent together in the New World. _When I am down… and oh my soul so weary… When troubles come… and my heart burdened be_…

He rolled over, gathering Gwen into his arms, burying his face in her neck, inhaling the scents of baby lotion and formula, her own rich musk of perfume and soap and shampoo all mixed. _Then I am still… and wait here in the silence… Until you come… and sit awhile with me_… He could feel her breathing, her pulse against his cheek.

"This is who you are, Arthur," she whispered, and there were tears in her voice. "You know you were never going to be an ordinary man, an ordinary father and husband. Not either of you."

"I know," he mumbled against her warm fragrant skin. "I know. Just sometimes…"

It was her turn to whisper, "I know."

"What am I going to do?" he said, and he wasn't exactly sure which problem he was referring to. Half a dozen, he thought, requiring some sort of solution.

"First things first," Gwen said, and he drew back to look at her. She smiled in the diffuse light from the hall. "Why don't you call him?"

He raised up to check the bedside clock again. "It's five-thirteen," he said.

He felt her giggle ripple through their connected bodies. "So you think you'd be interrupting something?" she said. "If he doesn't want to talk, he just won't answer. You'll feel better for trying, at least, and you can always just leave a message. Come on." She began to push against him gently. "Go. Go do it."

Groaning, he rolled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs over, sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around in the gloom for his t-shirt. "You just want me to leave so you can get some sleep," he accused.

"I don't sleep anymore," she contradicted, already making herself comfortable among the vacated pillows and blankets. "I nap, between feedings."

He located the shirt, on the floor almost all the way under the bed, and shoved his arms into it, pulling it over his head and yanking it down over his hips. He leaned back briefly to kiss Gwen's temple – her eyes were already shut but she smiled – and padded out to the kitchen.

The pre-dawn gloom had lightened enough for him to navigate the familiarity of his home without turning on any lights. He took his cell phone off the charger at the kitchen island and a bottle of water from the fridge, and stepped out onto his front porch, keying for Merlin's speed-dial. But before he pushed the green Send Call button, he glanced up at a large dark unusual shape just beyond his mailbox.

He set the phone down on the porch railing, unscrewed the cap of the water bottle, and headed down the front walk, the concrete smooth and cool beneath the soles of his bare feet. The road was rougher when he reached it, loose pebbles gouging his insteps as he rounded the front end of the vehicle parked silently at his curb.

The driver's side window was down to allow the cigarette smoke to trail away. The radio played softly from a dimly-lit center console. _Flower man… flower man…_

Arthur slung his arm over the side mirror. "What," he said to Merlin, "are you doing out here, at this hour?"

Merlin took one last drag of nicotine, and flicked the rest of the cigarette out into the street. "Couldn't sleep," he said around the exhalation of smoke. "You?" _Taken enough to hurt you, and all the things they say… _

Arthur snorted. "Yeah. Although," he waggled the water bottle, "I think my can't-sleep habits are healthier than yours." It was light enough to see Merlin's grimace. _So you put on your armor, and stand in the way_… "You quit," Arthur reminded him lightly.

Merlin reached for the door handle, and Arthur moved back as his friend stepped out of the vehicle and shut the door behind him. He handed him the water bottle; Merlin rinsed a mouthful around his teeth and spat it in the street. _You're wearing the target, that took so long to earn… and you start looking sideways, with every turn_…

Arthur looked at his friend more closely. He still wore the dark-blue trousers and white collared shirt he'd been dressed in at work on Friday, the day before. "Did you even go home last night?" he said.

"Yeah. I had dinner with Gaius and Freya. Something I want to show you." Merlin dug in his pocket and pulled out a tiny black box and held it out.

Arthur kept his expression neutral. "Tempting, but I am a married man," he said.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Just… I haven't asked her, but I want to. Soon." Arthur took the box. "What do you think?"

Arthur opened the box, and found he had no trouble seeing the dainty ring clearly. It was a rounded oval of a light-blue color, the band engraved with a flowing pattern that made Arthur think of waves, with tiny diamonds to either side of the central stone. "She'll love it," Arthur said.

"You think so?" Merlin sounded both pleased and unsure, and Arthur smirked at him as he handed the closed box back, though he didn't even seem to notice.

"How long have you been here?" Arthur asked, and it was just light enough to catch Merlin's offhand shrug. "Tell me something, Merlin," he added, feeling a little edge of irritation creep into his voice. "Shane Littlefield is safe, heading back to Seattle next week. Samuel went home with his family yesterday. Between our testimony and theirs, a dozen arrests have been made, here and in Seattle. So why is it you feel the need to spend a sleepless night in your car at my curb?"

He could tell Merlin was looking at him, but not the expression on his friend's face. It was still too early, not enough light out. "It probably wouldn't make sense to you."

Arthur sighed, letting a voiced edge into the breath. "Little of what you do makes sense to me!" he fired back.

There was wistful amusement in Merlin's voice. "Haven't fathomed me out yet, sire?"

Arthur said dryly, "Impossible." _No one ever will, not completely_. Though he supposed he'd come closer than most.

Merlin added, "I'm going to protect you. Like I always do."

Arthur's sigh this time was of a different quality_. I know – I just wish you wouldn't put yourself in danger to do it. _ "Merlin," he said, spreading his arms to indicate the sleepy-early hour of the quiet neighborhood. "What were you planning on protecting me from?"

"I just have a –" Merlin didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to.

A funny feeling, damn them all to hell. Each and every last one of the ominous, sadistic, helpful crippling cryptic – yes, he knew he had to pay attention to them. Didn't mean he had to like them.

"Maybe it's the music you've chosen," Arthur said, choosing to make a joke of it at the moment. Merlin cocked his head curiously, and they both listened for a moment. _One…more…murder in this town… _"What is this, anyway?"

"It's a soundtrack," Merlin concluded after listening another moment. "The X-files movie, I think." _One… more… murder in this town/ Don't worry the rain will wash the chalk marks… from the ground_…

"Well, no wonder you're worrying about conspiracies," Arthur commented lightly.

Instead of laughing it off, changing the radio or turning it off, Merlin said, "Claude Summerall made bail at his arraignment."

_Saturday night… shots ring out/ Add one to… the body count/ You come alive to see another's end…_

"You think he's going to come here and what?" Arthur said. "Challenge me to a duel?"

_Plead it to… a lesser count/ D.A. says… without a doubt/ Three to five you're on the streets again…_

Merlin rubbed at the concrete with the toe of his boot. "No – I don't know," he said. _One… more… murder… in this town/ Don't mean a thing/ You get accustomed… to the sound… _"What do you think Halbyon's going to do?" he challenged.

"Summerall's finished, whether he goes to prison or not," Arthur said. "It'll take Halbyon awhile to recover, their board will have to elect a new CEO." _One… more… murder… in this town/ Block off the street and/ Wrap the crime scene… tape around_… "You mind?" he added, gesturing at the Pathfinder's console.

Merlin didn't make a move, but his eyes glowed momentarily and the radio died. "Wendy was right about that department, though," he said. Arthur noticed that he was rubbing his watch band around and around his wrist, slowly and absent-mindedly. "There's every reason to keep it's existence from the public eye, but you can't deny that people like – people with parapsychological capabilities are out there. It would be good to know that the department can continue to locate and help them – train them, maybe – without the threat of exploitation from a corrupt CEO."

"That will be Halbyon's problem," Arthur said slowly, frowning to himself.

Merlin shook his head. "No, I don't think so. I think…" His voice trailed away; Arthur remained silent, and when Merlin spoke again, it was on a different topic. "Arthur, when I was telling you about the other night, when Gwaine and I went to Halbyon –"

"Broke into Halbyon," Arthur corrected, just as he had done in the previous conversation, and hearing an echo of Gwaine's protest against that charge_, I only drove the getaway car!_

"I told you I made it to that fourth-floor hallway," Merlin continued, as if Arthur hadn't said anything, "and then we were side-tracked talking about the fifth floor and Sammy coming down, and what the task force found when they served the warrant."

"I remember," Arthur said, grimly.

"And then you asked, if I never even got to Summerall's office where he kept the replica on display, how did I know it was a replica?"  
Merlin had simply shrugged and said, _it didn't feel like the real thing_. And yet, Arthur remembered now, Merlin's gaze intent on the white-haired CEO as he'd invited, demanded, _why not bring out the real one_?

Merlin turned to face Arthur, stepped back toward the rear of his Pathfinder. "In that hallway," he said, "I could feel it. I can't explain it – it called to me."

Dawn was approaching, the gray in the air lightening, lifting. Merlin put out one hand, not quite touching the shiny black metal of his vehicle, a whimsical look on his face. And Arthur wondered, how Merlin had known where the granite-sheathed king's sword was, fifteen centuries earlier, whether he'd found the clearing that same morning or the night before, or when. Or whether Gaius had a book describing the location – Gaius always had a suspiciously convenient book to credit for such knowledge. Arthur stepped over the rough-pebbled roadway, following Merlin's progress as he rounded the back bumper. He raised the hatch cover with one hand and lowered the tailgate with the other.

The cargo area of the Pathfinder was as neat and organized as Merlin ever kept a space – which was to say, not at all. The sorcerer leaned forward to snag the shoulder-strap of a black plastic rifle-case. He positioned it carefully, reached for both clasps simultaneously, and paused to give Arthur a look of eager, earnest hopefulness – exactly the look that had been missing when he'd watched Arthur across Summerall's conference table.

Arthur felt his heart begin to pound again, and he set the water bottle down on the floor of the cargo area, his eyes dropping to the rifle case.

Ye gods. It wasn't. It wasn't. How on _earth_ could Merlin have – the long fingers snapped the catches open, and lifted the case cover. All around them the air lightened with a golden glow, the warmth of promised sunrise.

In the case, secured with the velcro straps that were intended to keep various pieces of riflery from clattering around, lay His Sword. _The_ Excalibur.

He put out his hand, not quite touching it, and felt a jolt of recognition run up his arm. _This_ blade had known blood, and warfare. Exhaustion and the fear of defeat. The exultation of triumph. The patience of ages.

Merlin shifted, so close to Arthur's side that their bodies brushed against each other as he reached under Arthur's outstretched hand to unfasten the velcro closures, and slide the whole case a few more inches toward Arthur. He whispered, "Take me up."

Arthur's fingertips dipped to trail along the grooves of the runes, up toward the hilt. He grasped it; he lifted it. In that moment, the sunrise poured over the horizon, stretching to them, touching the tears shining in the sorcerer's eyes, caressing the sharp edge of the blade. Up and down as he tested the balance two-handed and found it perfect, tested the grip in his hand and found it comfortable; familiar.

Even though he should have felt ridiculous, tousled from a sleepless night, feet bare and dressed in plaid pajamas and a white t-shirt, instead he felt the momentous awe of destiny falling into place – a crown settling onto his head, a ring sliding into place on his finger, a tiny squirming blanket-wrapped bundle fit in the curve of his arm. _Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity_…

"Merlin," he said finally, "you shouldn't have." A twinge of uncertainty flickered across his friend's face. Arthur took his right hand from the hilt, and held it out to his sorcerer. Merlin hesitated just the fraction of a humble second, then slid his own hand past Arthur's to clasp his forearm. Arthur gripped him tight and told him again, seriously, "You shouldn't have."

Merlin gave him an elated smile, and Arthur heard everything he didn't say. _I know. I'd do it again in a heartbeat. I'm _not_ sorry._

"One of these days," Arthur spoke in a joking tone, shaking his head, his eyes on the sun-gilded blade, "I'm afraid I'm going to be visiting you in prison, or the hospital." A little voice whispered, _or the morgue_? He shivered and turned to Merlin, "Please don't make that necessary."

Amusement glinted in the deep blue eyes. "I am the soul of caution," he swore.

"You better be," Arthur said. "If I ever have to pay a lawyer for you –"

"I know, I know." Merlin put up his hands defensively. "It's coming out of my paycheck."

The sorcerer curled his hands under the drop-gate to lift it back into place, and Arthur said, "What do you expect me to do with _this_?" gesturing with the sword.

Merlin looked at him quizzically. "Keep it? Use it? Defend yourself with it?"

"I haven't exactly got an armory where I can store this with all my other weapons, off the master bedroom," Arthur said sarcastically. "Nor am I going to sleep with it under my bed like a baseball bat in case of prowlers."

Another thought struck him, and he couldn't believe it had taken this long. Merlin had broken the law by stealing it – stealing it _back_, yes, maybe – from Summerall, he himself was breaking the law by not reporting it – and if he kept it, he'd be in receipt of stolen goods. So why did it feel so right and so natural to consider it his possession once again?

"Maybe, when all of this is resolved," he said slowly, "we can get it to the Smithsonian for display-on-loan."

A wrinkle creased Merlin's forehead. "No," he said. "No, I think it – needs to be with you. Maybe not in your _house_ if you're uncomfortable with that – but we could keep it in Camelot. I could put protection on it so it could never be stolen."

"Hm." Arthur liked that idea. He shifted his grip on it, taking the flat of the blade in his other hand, and laying it back inside Merlin's rifle case. "Can you hang on to it for today? Bring it to the big house tonight – the security system is better there, even though no one's living there anymore."

"Sure." Merlin watched Arthur fasten the sword inside the case, then closed both halves of the Pathfinder's back hatch. "I'll see you tonight, then," Merlin added.

**A/N: Thanks to the guests who reviewed anonymously – I'm always happy for input, even when I can't respond directly! As for little Sammy West, I thought to myself, they're going to think it's Mordred – it's not (he has blonde hair…). No villains have been reincarnated for the use of this fic. He and Gary are good…**

**A certain phrase borrowed from Heather Dale's song "Kingsword" – and thanks to CaraLee934 for her suggestion that I check this music out...**

**PS – this was another super-long chapter that got split into two, and this is the shorter of the two – so the next one will be up tomorrow. Calm before the storm, anyone? :D**


	17. Collected

**Chapter 17: Collected**

The potluck was Gwen's idea. Time for everyone to unwind, relax, and enjoy each other's companionship. Plenty of people meant plenty of food, without need for catering staff. To have it at the Drake mansion was Arthur's idea. Lots more space, and no need for Gwen to worry about cleaning afterward – he'd hire someone from a service the following week. They could close the door on whatever mess they left and drive back home again.

"Depositions be damned," Gwaine announced, holding the door open for his date, a curvy redhead he'd been seeing for some months.

Percival's family arrived laden. Katy clutched a bagful of wrapped dinner rolls importantly, Percival's arms were full of alcohol and various cocktail ingredients, and Katherine carried her expectancy and her by-now famous fudge-pecan pie. She made herself comfortable on the couch in the main gathering room, separated from the formal dining room by a wide archway, cuddling baby Andrew on her own pregnant belly, as Percival made himself comfortable behind the bar in the kitchen just off the dining room to the rear of the house.

Merlin was late, as usual. He had a long lasagna pan in his hands and the rifle case over his shoulder; he stood to the side to let Freya enter first as Arthur opened the door to the dim foyer area.

"Sire," Freya said in her sweet voice, her expression a mix of apology and mild sarcasm, pretending to drop a curtsy, even in jeans with her hands full of a large tray of fresh vegetables and dip. Arthur noticed that her finger was still ring-free.

He said, "My lady," fully formal and grave, giving her a respectful bow of his head.

"He told me he showed it to you this morning," she said. Arthur didn't need any explanation of what her pronouns referred to.

"Yes," Arthur said. "And I understand I have you to thank for –"

"No," she said, interrupting. "You have no need to thank me. Only – treasure what you have." Her brown eyes were warm, yet intense. He remembered what Merlin had said about the curse, how short was the time she'd had with Merlin, before. He could see the Lady of the Lake of legend, in the gentle good-natured girl, now. "Care for your treasure with wisdom, Arthur Pendragon."  
He understood. "I will," he said, and the two small words were a vow. She stepped forward, and he reached to pull Merlin inside the house by the shoulder of his faded red t-shirt.

"You haven't asked her yet?" he said to his friend in an undertone.

"I wanted to, tonight," Merlin said, balancing the lasagna with one hand and patting the hip pocket of his jeans significantly. "I got a little – side-tracked." He gave Arthur an impudent grin, and Arthur took amused note of the brightness of his eyes and the untidy state of his hair.

"Lipstick," he teased Merlin, touching the corner of his own lips.

Merlin didn't fall for it. "She doesn't wear it," he told Arthur, his grin widening as he made his way through the large, comfortable gathering room toward the dining room and kitchen. He gave the room his familiar sheepish smile at the chorus of greetings.

"Gaius isn't coming?" Arthur asked him, loudly and clearly enough to include the others in the room with the information.

"No, he wasn't feeling well – migraine," Merlin said over his shoulder. "Are we the last? Sorry we're late."

Arthur began to say, "No, Leon isn't here yet," when the doorbell rang again. He went to answer, hearing some teasing remarks about the rifle case, Gwen's voice directing Merlin to put it in the game room.

It was Leon, standing without crutches behind a petite girl with skin as dusky and hair as black as Gwen's, and a lively smile. He was greeted in much the same way as Merlin had been – banter over being late, offers for drinks – with additional surprise and congratulations at his free-walking status, and requests for introductions to his date.

"Everyone," the oldest knight said calmly, drawing the petite girl to his side. "This is Jacinta, a nurse I met at the orthopedic clinic. I asked her to go on a date with me this week, and she said yes. And while we were on our date – I asked her to marry me."

Into the shocked silence of the room, the girl repeated, in a tone that teased her fiancé, "And she said yes!"

Arthur stepped back to watch as the room erupted with girlish squeals from the females and deeper voices of the knights giving Leon a hard time, in good fun. It was, Arthur thought in a pleased way, the perfect way to end this week, and to begin this evening. He sensed someone behind him, and wasn't surprised to find Merlin at his elbow.

"Kind of stole your thunder, didn't he?" Arthur remarked.

Merlin shrugged; he was smiling. "Freya and I have waited two and a half years – and fifteen centuries. I think another night won't make much difference." Then his eyes twinkled at Arthur. "After dinner we can look at the sword – I put it on the pool table for now, by the way - and then see how much attention engagement rings get." Arthur understood that he was speaking of a select few, not the whole group gathered there.

And because he was still looking at Merlin, he saw the golden gleam of magic light the blue eyes, and the room's sound system rose with music, lively but not too loud. _I have a dream… a song to sing/ To help me cope… with anything/ If you see the wonder… of a fairy tale/ You can take the future… even if you fail…_

"Let's eat!" Arthur declared.

It reminded him of the dinner they'd once eaten at Gaius' townhouse. Only, they'd expanded in number since then. Elyan was home for good from his naval tours, and they'd added two more honorary knights. A fiancée for Leon, a daughter for Percival, a son for Arthur and Gwen. And dates for the single guys. Arthur watched as contentedly as he'd ever presided over a banquet in the great hall of Camelot.

At one point Merlin and Ray were on the computer in the corner of the room, Merlin giving the other young man some kind of tutorial, by the look of it. Leon was explaining something to Percival about his knee, complete with demonstrative gestures, Percival looking suitably impressed. Freya was providing the bridge between Gwen and Kathryn, the married mothers, and the ladies less familiar with the others. Katy sat on the couch with Andrew in her lap, bolstered by pillows, holding the bottle for the baby. To some comment of Kathryn's, Freya said clearly, "Buy her a baby doll, she can change it and feed it while you're –" Arthur lost the rest of it as Gwen put her arms around his middle from behind and squeezed him as he held her hands closer against him, turned to give her a kiss.

At another point, Merlin leaned over the back of the couch with a ripe strawberry held by the stem, and made Freya pay for it with an upside-down kiss before he fed it to her. _And I once_, Arthur thought amusedly, _thought it strange to see a girl flirting with him_. Percival mixed margaritas by the pitcher-full. Gwaine stretched on the carpet to color with Katy in the book she'd brought in her tiny pink backpack, sharing crayons in all seriousness. His red-haired date on the couch above him rested her bare feet comfortably on his back.

The music continued through the evening, mostly unnoticed. Arthur thought Merlin might have prompted a song or two, but mostly just let the system choose. Elyan moved a couch and a chair and slow-danced with the girl he'd brought, joined by Ray and his date, while Jason's girlfriend played slow-jazz accompaniment on the baby grand in the corner opposite the computer. As the sky was darkening, a ballad began with the opening lines, _A long long time ago/ I can still remember how/ The music used to make me smile_…

_And I knew if I had my chance/ That I could make those people dance/ And maybe they'd be happy… for a while… _

"Come on, baby," Kathryn said to her daughter then, "time for you to say goodnight." They'd already arranged to put Katy to bed at her regular hour in one of the main-level guest bedrooms nearby.

"Oh, don't get up, babe," Percival called as Kathryn struggled to balance her weight and rise from the couch, waving aside several hands and offers for help. "I'll take her."

"No!" Katy was vehement, as Gwaine at her feet collected crayons back into their box. "Don' wan' dad-dad."

"Well, take your pick, then," Kathryn said, subsiding. "Who do you want to put you to bed?"

_Now do you believe in rock and roll? Can music save your mortal soul? And can you teach me how to dance… real slow?_

Katy's face puckered with an adorable deep-in-thought frown, as she gazed around the roomful of adults, finally deciding – and several voices chimed in, anticipating her choice – "Unca Mewin!"

"All right, Katy-did," Merlin agreed easily, pushing himself up from the couch where he'd been lounging with his arm around Freya. She leaned forward swiftly to smack his butt, but he pretended not to notice, scooping up Katy in her Disney Princesses nightgown.

"Do you need me to show you –" Gwen started, but in Jacinta's arms, Andrew let out an I'm-unhappy squawk, little arms flailing.

"No, I'm good," Merlin called over his shoulder, headed down a side hallway into the unlit rooms beyond. _I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck/ With a pink carnation and a pickup truck…_ "Be back in a minute."

_But I knew I was out of luck/ The day… the music… died_. It played, soft in the background. Arthur felt cold, but no one else seemed to notice the song. _Bye, bye, Miss American Pie/ Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry…_ Gwaine got up from the floor to join Percival at the bar, suggesting some exotic addition to the margarita pitcher. _Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey in rye_… Leon was trying to talk Jacinta into getting him another dessert, so he didn't have to get up from the recliner where she was perched on the arm, sharing the footrest with him. _Singin' this'll be the day that I die_… Jason bent over Ray's shoulder at the computer. _This'll be the day that I die…_

Arthur thought later, he should have known it wouldn't last.

And he always wondered, whether he'd remembered to reset the perimeter security after Merlin and Leon had arrived, or whether he'd forgotten.

He heard a smashing of glass, and was turning his head toward the kitchen, beginning to formulate some joke about the clumsiness of certain knights, when a heartbeat later a BANG! filled the room with light and sound.

He found himself on his hands and knees, a high-pitched keening whistle in his ears almost completely obliterating a lower desperate rumble of sound. He couldn't tell if his son was crying, or if Katy was screaming, but he tried to crawl toward the couch, toward his wife and baby.

He couldn't see. He felt tears on his face from his painfully watering eyes. Disorientation crashed around him.

It was all wrong. It was all dangerously wrong, and he couldn't see and he couldn't hear and –

Rough hands pushed him down, appallingly fast and brutal. He tried to resist and felt the reverberations as his hands were zip-tied behind him, and then his feet. He struggled, trying to roll over, trying to position himself to raise up on his knees with the idea of standing as a hazy goal.

And then everything stopped.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur was aware first, of pain and voices. He blinked at his lap, and felt a pulling soreness in his arms, in his neck. He shook his head to clear his senses.

He was seated in one of the dining chairs – tied to the chair. As clarity sharpened, he lifted his head – he'd been unconscious minutes only, it seemed.

Long enough, damn it all. Long enough.

Gwen – it hurt to swing his head around, but that wasn't important. Gwen was seated at the end of the couch, Andrew busily consoling himself with his bottle in her arms. Her face was calm – but her eyes spat fire. Freya was between Gwen and Kathryn, and Katy between them, looking like she was in shock or half-asleep – all the women backed into that corner by another black-clad figure, barrel-chested and standing with his feet far apart, pistol at the ready. He met Gwen's eyes and the messages telegraphed instantly. _Are you – I'm fine_.

Gwaine was motionless facedown on the floor, hands and feet zip-tied. Percival stood near him, a trickle of blood descending his stony face as he allowed a much smaller black figure – boots, trousers, shirt, gloves, ski mask – to fasten the same plastic binding strips on his own limbs. Next to his foot was a palm-sized canister Arthur recognized. A flash-bang. It had been the windows breaking, then, as the sense-destroying device was shot inside the room. Probably several of them.

He turned his head further at the sound of a groan. Elyan, Ray, and Jason were all bound to chairs as he was, dragged back against the far wall of the dining room behind him. Another black-clad figure was fastening a zip-tie around Leon's ankles, pulling on his injured leg.

_That's all of_ us, he thought. _Where's Merlin?_

Something hard and small jammed under the edge of his jaw on his right, forcing his head almost all the way over to his left shoulder.

"Arthur Drake," said an unfamiliar male voice.

"What do you want?" he said.

The intruder beside Leon left him seated and bound, to take a position near the women, pistol pointed indiscriminately into their midst. The girls behind the couch were clutching each other, whimpering into the hands covering their faces – the three seated, Gwen, Kathryn, and Freya, all more calm. Percival was pushed to his knees beside Gwaine's feet, then down to a completely prone position. His attacker stepped back so the females were surrounded in a triangular pattern.

"I have plenty of hostages here," the unseen intruder at Arthur's immediate right said. "I didn't come to play games. Nor, I assure you, did I come to kill anyone. But if you do not do as we say quickly, and courteously, we will shoot – someone. It does not matter to us who."

"So tell me what you want," Arthur said. He had no guarantee that this man would keep his word, but so far his actions had been to subdue and restrain. The knights would not act without Arthur's signal, and he could see only one course of action was open to him now – cooperate. And wait. And where the hell was –

"Three things. Your signature, your sword, and –"

"I've got him," someone else said, another male voice from the corridor to the bedrooms.

The barrel of the gun under the edge of Arthur's jaw retreated as the one who was clearly the leader turned. Arthur turned as well, as the biggest of the five intruders staggered into the room, leaning forward against the weight of something he was dragging. When they reached the polished-wood floor of the dining room, it was easier going, and the big man slung his burden forward.

In his gloved hand, a zip-tie binding a pair of boots together – boots at the end of jean-clad legs, pale skin showing at the torso where the faded red t-shirt had been rucked up by the trip down the hallway carpeting – and the shaggy mop of black hair. His face was turned away. In the sudden absolute silent of the room, the tumble of Merlin's limp body on the wood flooring was obscene. One of the women gasped – probably Freya.

Arthur's hands were wrenched painfully as he instinctively reacted – but the leader cocked his pistol in a clear warning that needed no words.

"Any trouble?" the leader addressed the big man, who shrugged, leaning down to pinch something away from Merlin's neck.

_ Damn. There went plans B through F. _

The leader turned back to Arthur, eyes and teeth gleaming through his ski mask. "Three things," he repeated pleasantly. "Your signature, your sword, and your sorcerer."

Arthur opened his mouth to say, _think of that all by yourself, did you?_ and thought better. He couldn't take the chance that they would be in the least bit careless of their bullets. "What do you mean, sorcerer?" he said instead, keeping his voice even. The room was vibrating with tension – either that or Arthur had been hit harder than he'd thought.

The leader didn't answer, instead busying himself extracting a sheaf of folded papers from a zipped breast pocket. "Here's the deal," he said pleasantly. "You're going to sign all control of Camelot Technologies and Securities over to Summerall and Halbyon. You're going to give the sword to us, and then we'll go. Any hint of trouble after we're out the door, any whisper of retaliation and _he_ –" the leader nodded significantly at Merlin on the floor – "will have a very rough time."

Arthur thought, _that doesn't make sense. Summerall can't possibly retain control of Halbyon, not after the charges have been filed and the trial date set_… but pointing that out to these men was probably a waste of time.

The leader spread the paper on the table with one hand, holding his gun in the other, produced a pen, and then a knife that he flicked open. "Now," he said. "Your sorcerer here is the most valuable of these three to Summerall. Which is why I haven't bludgeoned him repeatedly over the head. He needs to be able to think, eventually. And I'm not going to be careless about injuring him, because the magic is in the blood, I understand. But…" he paused and sent a glance around the room, making sure he had everyone's attention… "the boy has ten toes. Which he will not need at all to fulfill Mr. Summerall's plans for him. I trust I've made myself clear." He looked back at Arthur. "No tricks, please. Are you ready to sign?"

Arthur took a deep breath. "Not yet," he said. A calculated risk.

"Pardon?"

"The women," he said, his heart pounding, not from fear, but from adrenalin. "And the children. Lock them in the kitchen, or something. Somewhere safe, out of the way."

The leader leaned closer. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he said. "In the kitchen? With knives, and appliances, and –"

"In the pantry, then," Arthur said. Food, and water – the women could stay there for _days_, if they had to. The door was solid – they could barricade themselves in. And if things went wrong out here…

"A show of good faith," the leader said. "Fine." He turned and quirked one black-gloved finger. "Ladies. Empty your pockets, please. Then follow my associate, and do recall that the safety of your lovers depends on your good behavior."

Gwen was the first to obey, her eyes on Arthur, once again passing messages. _I love you. Take care of Andrew_. Freya picked up Katy and settled her on her hip, giving Kathryn a hand up from the couch. Silently the rest obeyed their captors, and filed past Arthur and Leon into the kitchen. He held the leader's gaze until he heard the pantry door shut, and lock, and the two black-clad men returned.

The leader circled behind Arthur's chair, slid the cold blade of the knife between his hands to snap the plastic zip-tie. Then slammed the pen down on the stack of papers. "Sign." Arthur made a show of rubbing his wrists where the ties had constricted the blood flow. Then he moved the pen and started to read. It worked for half a minute, then the leader snapped, "What are you doing? You initial each page at the bottom, then sign the last page."

"I'm going to read it first," Arthur stated, with as much dignity as he could gather. He could feel the knights' tension and concentration as if they were his own, but without a workable plan… he could see no way of successful resistance that did not involve someone getting shot.

"The hell you are," the leader said. "It doesn't matter if you find something you disagree with, does it? It's not going to change, and you're going to sign anyway. Do it."

Arthur reluctantly put pen to paper, and initialed. Then he turned the page over, and repeated it. There were only six pages of documentation, and when he reached the final page, he hesitated, and looked up into the expressionless black ski mask of the leader. The man's stare was broken by a muffled moan from Merlin. He twitched, and the dining room light dimmed suddenly, then flared brighter.

The big man stepped back, pointing his handgun down at the sorcerer on the floor. "Is that him doing that?" he said uncertainly. In the gathering room, the stereo fuzzed static softly, and in the china cabinet a goblet tipped over and cracked.

Arthur didn't know whether to be exultant or terrified. An opportunity? _Wait_, he told himself. _Wait_.

"Don't shoot him again," the leader said, hopping off his seat on the table and peering at Merlin on the floor. He twitched again, and the light over Arthur's head flickered twice. Arthur didn't think he was the only one holding his breath.

"One more," the big man suggested, aiming his pistol.

The leader shook his head, reaching quickly to physically readjust the other's grip on the weapon. "No," he decided. "I was told, a double dose could send him into cardiac arrest."

"But he's fighting the first," the big man objected. "What'll we do if –"

The leader snapped his fingers at one of the others. "Tape," he said. A roll of silvery duct tape was tossed to him, and he passed it over to the other. "Shut his mouth, and cover his eyes," he said.

The big man knelt to rip a length off and plaster it across Merlin's mouth, then unwound the roll, wrapping the sticky gray tape several times around the sorcerer's head to seal off his sight.

The leader gave Arthur a sidelong glance. "You," he said, "are answerable for his conduct. You get through to him, you make sure he behaves. Or else."

Arthur noticed that each of the black-dressed intruders had their weapons pointed at the head or the heart of one of his men. It sent ice sheeting through his heart – _here we are, again_, he thought. _I can't lose a one of them, now_. He nodded. "Fine."

The man made a preemptory gesture and Arthur realized that he had no intention of releasing his ankles, so instead of hopping, Arthur merely knelt from his chair to the floor, stretched himself out next to his friend.

"Hey," he said softly near Merlin's ear. Merlin twitched again, then began to move, slowly and without coordination. Arthur hoped his words would be understood. "Hey, you have to stop doing magic," he said again. "You hear me in there? Someone's going to get hurt – they'll hurt someone if you keep trying to fight. No more magic right now."

Merlin flinched, tried to speak against the tape over his face. The leader leaned down and said, "Any magic, and Arthur dies. Got that?" His glance included Arthur, then he nodded a signal to the biggest intruder.

He knelt next to Merlin, taking a small plastic case from his pocket, and shaking out two small bright orange objects – foam earplugs. Squeezing them small, he inserted them into Merlin's ear canals; once they'd expanded back into shape, they'd block almost all sound completely from the sorcerer's hearing.

"Now for the sword," the leader hinted.

"Cut my feet loose," Arthur returned. The man pointed his pistol at Leon's chest; there was three feet between the barrel and the knight's heart. "I can't very well go get it if –"

"Just tell me where it is," the leader suggested. Leon looked right into Arthur's eyes and shook his head _no_. Arthur hesitated, and the leader took two steps to his left, pointed the pistol at Merlin, and fired.

The bullet tore into the floorboards between Merlin and Arthur, scoring Merlin's face and Arthur's right forearm with tiny splinters. Both of them jerked away from each other.

"The game room," Arthur said in disgust, pointing in the right direction. Merlin was trembling, but whether from shock, fear, or anger, Arthur couldn't tell. "It's on the pool table."

He reached to touch his friend, soothe him or reassure him, but the leader jerked his pistol to command Arthur to return to his chair, produced another zip-tie to bind his hands. He recognized eagerness and impatience vying with the caution in the leader – it made him more dangerous, the closer he got to achieving his goal, not less.

One of the black-clothed men returned carrying the rifle case, and the leader cracked it open to check its contents. "Well, that's it for us," he said brightly, stuffing the folded papers back into his pocket. "And remember – even though no one died here tonight, they could have. You all have your lives. As for your friend…" He glanced at Merlin and shrugged. "If he cooperates, he'll be well-treated."

An agonizing pang shot through Arthur's chest. Merlin never cooperated. They wouldn't know that, wouldn't understand – He couldn't let them take his friend, had to do something, even at this last minute – but what? What in hell what?

"Who knows?" The leader shrugged. "You may even see him again some day."

The big man reached again for a grip on the zip-tie binding Merlin's feet, started to drag him through the gathering-room toward the door, though Merlin, it seemed, could not go without struggling. Arthur was not the only one who pulled against the zip-ties, then, but the other three intruders retreated silently, cautiously, pistols ready yet to make sure their prisoners could not try anything.

The leader's teeth flashed at Arthur through the ski mask, and he added, "Although, he may not know who you are by then…"

The sounds of their departure faded, down the hall to the front door, outside. Outside, the sound of engines, starting, shifting gear, fading.

Arthur let his body fall forward as far as it was able, resting his chest on his knees as the back of the chair and the zip-tie cutting into his wrists pulled painfully.

He may not know who you are_… Hell. Damn. Fire._


	18. Unleashed

**Chapter 18: Unleashed**

Merlin tucked Katy into the middle of the queen-sized guest bed, dimmed the light of the bedside lamp with magic.

"There," he told her. "Good night, Katy-did." He kissed his fingertips and laid them on her light-brown curls.

"Unca Mewin," she said, before he could stand up from his half-lounging position on the bed. She was innocence, itself. "Stowy, Unca Mewin?"

He smiled. "Just one, then. You want to hear an old one, or a new one?"

"Noo-un!" She kicked her feet under the coverlet in excitement.

"About what?" he said.

" 'Bout you an' Kin Arfur," she said, her brown eyes shining.

"You're not tired of us, yet?" he teased, and her round cheeks dimpled. "Okay, let's see." He thought, and heard the murmur of adult voices from the large gathering room, the low strains of the music playing there.

_Now the half-time air was sweet perfume… while sergeants played a marching tune… We all got up to dance… But we never got the chance… _

"Once upon a time," he said to Katy, "at a party a lot like this one…" _Hm, let's see, how to tell this to a three-year-old_… "An evil witch brought a poison cup."

"Li' No White anna appa?"  
"Like Snow White and the apple," he agreed. "The witch made sure the prince was given the cup."

"Pince Arfur," Katy clarified, contented in her certainty.

"But Arfur's servant Mewin couldn't let him get sick if he drank from the cup," Merlin continued teasingly. "What do you suppose he did?"

"You frew it down onna fwoor!" Katy guessed.

"No, he drank out of the cup himself," Merlin corrected. "To show the king that it was poisoned, so the bad guy would be found and punished."

"We'n't you sick?" Katy wondered.

"Oh, yes," Merlin said. "Very sick. And so Prince Arthur had to go on a quest to find a flower that could make Merlin feel all better again."

"Tummy messin'?" Katy said, and Merlin had to think a minute before he could translate.

"Tummy medicine," he agreed. "Prince Arthur came to a dark cave – full of spiders!" He made his fingers wiggle and lunged for her to tickle her, and she shrieked with laughter. _Oh, right, settle down – you're supposed to be putting her to_ sleep, he told himself.

Behind him in the dim bedroom, the window shattered, exploded with an ear-shattering BANG! and a blinding flash of light.

Merlin reacted instantly, freezing everything in place throughout the room. His ears rang and his eyes streamed painfully – he blinked and squinted, he'd frozen the light also, somehow. But – no shrapnel, no damage, just the glittering glass of the broken window.

What?

His ears screaming their own refrain of rebellion and his eyes blurred, his brain came to a sluggish conclusion. Flash-bang. Not a bomb, but a device used to temporarily stun the occupants of a room so it could be entered and occupied without resistance. Which meant that someone would be entering –

He felt the caress of a night breeze through the broken window, and a tiny prick like the bite of a fly on the side of his neck.

Memory flashed split-second – a sidewalk under a cold, cloudy sky, the scent of evergreen – the moment when his throat constricted and he realized the contents of the goblet were _not fine_.

He turned back to the little girl in the big bed; it seemed to take a decade. He stretched out his hand, feeling his muscles involuntarily relax, gripped his magic with fanatic determination, and spread his fingers over Katy's chest, pouring out his fast-retreating strength. _To her mother. Go_.

He didn't feel the whirlwind effect of the teleportation spell. And his vision was flooded with whirling gray wisps. But when he collapsed onto the bed, it was empty.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

He felt no pain. He felt nothing.

No, that wasn't accurate. He felt a touch of anxiety, like dreaming he was in school again and had forgotten to do an assignment or how to open his locker combination. Something forgotten, something important.

Was it Arthur? No, he remembered Arthur. King Arthur of Britain. And he himself, Merlin the greatest sorcerer… _Arfur and Mewin_, he thought whimsically. And – _it's so_ dark.

He struggled for his magic, sensing it but unable to touch, to grasp, to use. _Light, dammit, light!_ He could see nothing but images on the back of his eyelids.

Like a spotlight on a stage. _And as I watched him on the stage… my hands were clenched in fists of rage_… Gwen singing, _Don't cry because I'm alone_… Freya with the baby in the blanket. _Run, Eliza, run_! he thought fiercely.

From somewhere far away, he heard Arthur's voice. _The women and the children_, the king said. _Somewhere safe, out of the way_.

_Yes_, he thought, relieved. _Yes, sire. Thank you, sire_.

He relaxed minimally, but the dream continued to play. The woman at Annis' banquet table – _I would love to see your fool perform. Maybe a demonstration?_ An ally, even if her perceptions were a bit off. An older man, a white-haired man loomed, sword bright in his hand, to challenge Arthur. Now he knew the man's name – Claude Summerall.

Wait. He'd found the sword, hadn't he? Returned it to its owner. To Arthur_. I could put protection on it so it would never be stolen. Why not bring out the real one_. Was that why, the flash-bang? Someone knew he'd brought it here, someone who would take it…

No. No, that was wrong. The sword belonged in Arthur's hand. Great evil – Mordred gave a panicked, rictus grin – Arthur's face glazed with shock – blood, royal blood – dragon-breathed, a fragment of sword embedded – they would use his own damn sword against him, dammit – _great evil_.

He fought, then. Surged kicking and screaming against the great weight of lethargy in his mind, in his body, in his blood. Right there, his to grasp, almost within reach – his very soul stretched out –

Arthur's voice sounded in his ear. _Hey. Hey, you have to stop doing magic_.

For an instinctive instant he obeyed. Then he wrestled harder. _I have magic – I use it for you, only for you._ But he couldn't speak, couldn't argue. Maybe he had been dragged into that interrogation room after all, the one in that movie with the one guy – and his mouth had been fused shut…

Arthur said, _You hear me in there? Someone's going to get hurt – they'll hurt someone if you keep trying to fight. No more magic right now_.

He stopped. Frozen in place on the dark stage, hands clenched, as the magic ebbed away again. He felt rough hands, on his face on his head, forcing stillness as something blocked his ears. Then he was floating in blackness, with no way to tell up or down, alone alone – something punched past the side of his face and he jerked away, floated again, wary for another such attack.

Something fumbled at his feet and he kicked out reflexively, ineffectively, his sense of balance tipped, a feeling of movement joining the disorientation of the whole. Dread began to sift through him like hot sand onto his chest – was it only his mind that was bound? Would he ever escape this place?

He began to thrash as much as he was able, and it felt like tumbling down a painted-concrete school staircase. Utter disruption of equilibrium, blows coming from all sides at once. He retreated, curling mind and body to protect what was vital.

He was alive. Arthur was alive, he had to be. His current efforts were getting him nowhere, he needed more information, and the capacity to act. More sensory input to join him in whatever cage he'd been locked into. Wait, and recover.

Maybe he slept. Maybe he passed out.

He could smell the faint odor of gasoline, feel the rough nubby material of industrial-type carpet. He retained the sensation of movement - a vehicle. He focused and found he couldn't open his eyes or his mouth, couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood through his veins. Lines of pain cut through his wrists at the small of his back, causing hands and arms to begin throbbing. Again, or still, or whatever. His knees were bent, there was soft, solid surfaces closing him in, but he shuffled around enough to believe that the ability to move had returned.

Magic? Was there, creeping toward him little by little like incoming tide. Close, close – then withdraw. But closer the next time until – there. It reached him, trickled into him, soaked into him.

He concentrated, and it felt like his head would explode, like veins would break – and then the obstruction in his ears shifted. Again, then again, working free. He twisted his head cautiously, and the plugs dropped away. His hearing was back.

He heard voices. "Taking him to headquarters?"

"Police have already been there, they won't –"

"Not our problem. Just… money…" They mumbled, they whispered, they didn't hold his attention.

Next. He moved his fingers awkwardly, identifying the zip-ties binding his hands behind his back. Impossible to untie, even for magic; they'd have to be cut. Fine. He rubbed his face against whatever surface he laid on – floor or seat or cargo area – not a trunk, the voices were too clear for that possibility. Rubbed and rubbed. He felt the edge of tape on his face come free, lose it's stickiness gathering lint or dust, roll so slowly away from his mouth. He worked the muscles of his face to free them, and gulped deep breaths of air.

Not entirely clear-headed, yet. He heard not-Arthur's voice in memory, saying, _We can't leave you alive in their hands_. He heard Arthur's voice saying, _go all out Manchurian Candidate on your ass_. Tranqs and hallucinogens and – cure. And he still did not know what had happened to Arthur. He was not here in the car, at least.

How long would the ride last, and where would he end up, and what would be done to him there? He thought of Julie Wild and Shane and Sammy. The deadly goblet – _to_ _your health, sire. It had to be done. _

_I have to do my best to bring the plane down_.

He experimented, reaching out with the magic, but without sight. He tested his control, his will, on familiarity first, and the music came on, came up. Old country. _This ain't my first rodeo… This ain't the first time this ol' cowboy's been throwed… This ain't the first I've seen this dog and pony show… This ain't my first rodeo… _

Yellow light – _my foot was nowhere near the brake_. Only, that didn't seem sufficient. They'd get out and walk – or, if they suspected his involvement, they'd hit him over the head with some other injection.

No. _I will drink the cup, the poison overflowing. It had to be done_. He steeled himself and reached out. Maybe he'd seen this on movies, defenses against car-jacking – but that was backwards, wasn't it? He was the one jacking the car… He ruthlessly yanked the wheel, right or left, didn't matter. He allowed no emotion – no fear, no pity, no apology – and floored the gas pedal from his position in the back seat.

The vehicle lurched – someone yelped – and Merlin's body lifted briefly before he was once again tumbling down that long dark staircase of all-encompassing pain.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

When he woke again, the smell of gas was overwhelming. The smell of blood. He retched, and it hurt more than his stomach – chest, arms, legs - the ache screaming through every inch. Someone was moaning, someone cursing.

He lay in the artificially-imposed absolute darkness and felt they were no longer moving. He was on his back, and could feel no serious injuries. Nothing broken, nothing punctured – he couldn't believe his luck. He squirmed, and felt the sting of broken glass beneath his fingers. He focused – his hands were too battered and numb to function properly, and blind magic was always risky, but he couldn't just lie there. Sharp edges were drawn against taut plastic, over and over, and after a moment of clumsy straining and impatient persistence, the zip-tie around his hands gave way.

He clawed at the sticky binding restricting his sight, and ripped out what felt like several dozen hairs when he finally freed himself.

It was still dark. _Of course, idiot, still night_. But there was a streetlight not too far away, and he looked up at a smashed-out window space, longer than a regular passenger window – cargo space for a larger vehicle, then. No longer important.

Breathing, and moaning, and cursing – and it wasn't his own. Someone else moving. Enemies. No one would would help, only hurt him further. Stop him from getting back to –

He shifted, and glared at the zip-tie around the ankles of his boots, igniting enough of a flame to melt the plastic and singe both leather and denim. Then he pushed himself up, up past the sharp teeth of the broken window, out into the night air. He pulled his legs out behind him, and tumbled dizzily off the vehicle to the ground.

Beneath his fingers, loose earth. Just beyond, the remains of a length of chain-link fencing, crumpled by the overturned vehicle. A sign, visible in the streetlight – inside a red oval, Danger. Below it, Hard Hat Area. He looked up. The steel skeleton of a construction project lay before him, working lights left on for safety, though no one was there, or supposed to be.

"Hey, you damned little f- freak," someone rasped behind him. More noise from the vehicle. He cast a glance over his shoulder even as he scrambled to his feet.

A dark figure wavered, in Merlin's vision or in fact, leaned against the vertical engine-hood of the vehicle, reaching through the windshield's empty space. Straightening, one arm made a flicking motion to extend a foot-and-a-half black baton.

_They want you for your magic. Draw off another half-pint_. He was so terribly, lamentably, dangerously slow. If they caught him, they'd use him.

He turned and fled.

He tripped and scrambled and ran again, shouts – shots? – following him, chasing him down. If he could reach the bones of the building he could hide, he could catch his breath, his magic. He could fight if he had to, make it impossible for them to catch him, to find him –

He skidded onto the cement foundation, and his running footfalls echoed. He ducked behind the first column he saw, and because they'd probably seen him too, he dashed sideways to a second one, pressed his back against the thick vertical pylon. He gasped for breath and tried to do it silently, listening for sounds of pursuit over the thunder of air and blood in his body. He ventured to lean around the curve of the column to check behind him.

There were three of them. Whatever it was they'd shot into him giggled in the back of his mind, _three on my six_. They paused as a group, clearly deliberating.

Then one shouted, "Don't make this harder than it has to be. We don't want to hurt you… but we will."

Two of them held handguns, he saw, dangling at their sides, and the one in the middle tapped the baton against his knee, waiting for Merlin's response. He gave none.

It was hard to catch his breath, hard to force focus through a mind fogged with drugs and memory, onto a body battered and contaminated.

One clear thought came through – his phone. He slapped at his hip pocket, drew out the delicate little instrument that was to be his salvation, glancing back at his three followers.

They were no longer on his six. One was veering to the counter-clockwise side, another picking his way over a pile of cleared construction rubble toward nine o'clock. And the third coming warily straight forward.

He glanced down at his phone – surely the small glow would go unnoticed – and found it nearly crushed in his hand, pieces loose, screen shattered in the crash. More than once he'd fixed his computer after an act of violence had damaged it, but he knew more about computers – _come on, come on_. Nothing happened.

He could hear all three of them, trying to put him into the center of their triangle, close in on him. _The boy is a weapon_… He sobbed breathlessly – _leave me the hell alone. Don't make me do this!_ Slipping from shadow to shadow, keeping away from industrial-strength work-lights, he put more distance between himself and the nearest enemy.

He halted behind another great cold concrete column. His body pleaded to be allowed to lay gently down, stretch out, relax into oblivion. He refused, forcing concentration onto his phone. Nothing. He resisted the urge to slam it to the ground – _no. Quiet. Okay, think, and focus. Why run and hide when you can just _move_, the way Katy _moved_?_ He focused, he willed, he even whispered words of the old language – nothing. Not so much as a whisper of extra breeze kicking up. Dammit.

The lights, then. Even the playing field, so to speak. He'd take out the lights in a flash of sparks, ruining their night vision, make his way back to the road – the magic slipped from his grasp, slipped again. It tugged at him like an unruly hound on a leash, begging for freedom. Odd, when his magic was always so loyal, content to be at his beck and call, often anticipating needs or desires – where did it want to go, if not to self-defense?

A thought occurred to him, as he crouched in the shadows. What if they'd each been hostages for the other's good behavior? _They'll hurt someone if you keep trying to fight._ It seemed to him a tactical error for kidnappers to plan to strike a security-wrapped mansion filled with experienced fighters, instead of taking Merlin at his own home… What if his trick with the car, his escape, caused Arthur harm?

Ah, hell. Arthur. His other half. Merlin's magic never sought to leave him, never – but what if Arthur needed it, needed him, and he wasn't there?

A projectile hornet zipped past his face, stinging his cheek slightly in passing. A shout flushed him from his shadow, and he ran again.

"Here, Morty, he's here!"

"Take him down, take him down! Use the tranqs, dammit!"

Merlin headed for a patch of darkness, only to come up against a solid wall, instead of the open framework of steel and concrete supports. He slid to a halt, panting – and a bit of bright red feather pattered down off the concrete less than an arms-length away. Darts.

Yeah. Good idea. He darted in another direction, along the wall to his left, harsh light to absolute shadow, the skeletal building silent and heavy above him. It was meant to be a parking area, he thought as he sprinted, searching desperately for a moment of cover, meant to serve whatever offices or businesses would settle into the upper floors.

Spang! Chips flew to his right. That was bullets, not darts. He ducked away, not caring if he was being herded, caring only that he wasn't shot. Shot Merlin couldn't help Arthur. He tried again for the lights, and managed to explode two bulbs ahead and to his right.

His lungs felt thin, like brown paper bags inside his chest, fluttering, crackling. Black flecks danced in front of his eyes. He staggered into the area his magic had darkened, bruised his knee against a half-wall he hadn't seen in time, and sagged against it to try to increase oxygen to his brain.

_Just leave me the hell alone. Just give up and go on without me. Leave me, please leave me._

Faintly he heard voices shouting. "Did you see which way?"

"Check up there!"

"Did you hit him with another dose?"

"Don't think so… all out…"

Suddenly one of them was much clearer, much closer. "Just shoot him, then. If he lives, Summerall can get him patched up. But do _not_ let him get away."

He couldn't wait to find his breath, to clear his vision. He kept on, and the soles of his feet sent a message to his damn-slow brain that he was on an upward-sloping ramp. Parking garage – it made sense, of a sort. He was on the second level up, now – or maybe the third?

He rounded the edge of another half-wall, and huddled behind it. His whole body was trembling as if he'd just drunk a pot-full of coffee, but it felt like he couldn't drag his eyelids open, even yet. Like the caffeine had worked from the neck down. The damn drug was still trying to finish its insidious job, trying to convince him that sleep should be his top priority – slow down, take it easy, relax…

He blinked violently, shook his head, and glanced over his shoulder. Footsteps approached, shadows weaved and wavered.

"Did he come up here?"

"Did he go back down?"

"Make sure he doesn't get past you, dammit!"

He focused on the light furthest from him, focused on the glass, the filament inside the bulb, squeezed… _squeezed_. It imploded, and footsteps rushed, fading toward it.

He pushed himself up, heading deeper into the site, which was also in the direction of another edge. Get out, get away – back to Arthur, somehow.

His boots stumbled, the chemical weariness pulling at his limbs once again. Nerves and muscles warred like night and day. Asleep and awake. He blundered into a curtain of sudden blurriness which clattered alarmingly loud – sheet plastic hung for some reason. He jerked back against a sheltering column, heart pounding.

Voices called, echoed, closing in. "I know you're there," someone shouted. "Come out and we won't shoot."

Completely still, he focused on breathing slowing and quieting. His mind was finally clearing, maybe – _I've run about as far as I care to_, he thought. Two sets of footsteps, one to each side, coming up from behind him, less than thirty feet apart. The plastic sheeting swayed, illuminated by a work-light maybe fifteen yards beyond. He couldn't be sure, as the plastic curtain obscured it, but he believed it was one on the outside of the structure.

Merlin glanced to one side, then the other. Both black-clad men crept forward alertly, pistols extended in readiness to fire. They would shoot him without hesitation at this point, he was sure. If they knew who he was, what he could do, if that's why they wanted him, they wouldn't want to risk his retaliation.

His heart thudded, and he smiled grimly to himself. They were right, about that.

He watched them moving parallel to each other, checking to the outer sides first. Then they would turn their attention inward – where he was. They would find him.

Unless –

He straightened and strode forward abruptly, flinging the plastic sheeting aside with a crackle of noise.

Two shots, each loud as a plank dropped flat-side down on concrete. He slowed time as the bullets traveled – _bullets are faster than arrows, sire_ – stepped out of their path. He turned as his feet carried him forward, correcting the trajectory of one bumblebee bullet, checking the other –

Releasing time. Each man's bullet found the body of his fellow, and both dropped. _Killed or wounded or I don't give a f-_

Someone slammed into him with the force of a three-hundred-pound linebacker, and he tumbled shoulder-blades and shins over the bare concrete of the floor. He glimpsed the third man looming over him, grimly silent and probably intent on revenge – moonlit on one side and starkly white from the work-lamps on the other, brandishing the slim hard riot-baton. Merlin raised his hand, and his magic tugged the opposite direction.

So he lunged forward at the man's knees, spoiling his aim and disrupting the force of the blow, which still fell cross-ways on his back, simultaneously numbing and splintering pain through the rest of him. Merlin stumbled trying to right himself.

_ A hard fight to get clear of, here._

Wait – moonlight? Then they were close to the missing outer wall of the unfinished building – no wall yet, just empty space. Second floor, or third? He didn't suppose it mattered a great deal, anymore.

The baton lifted again, and Merlin rose in his own tackling rush, his momentum – his magic? – carrying them both to the unguarded edge.

For a moment they wavered – the eyes visible through the holes in the ski mask intent on deadly damage, then widening in realization of their position. Beyond and below, the bare leveled earth of the site, and then the cool deep black-green of trees. He pushed with the toes of his boots on the very edge of the concrete floor, and as they tilted, assailant and assailed, downward, he had a split-second to realize the heap of cleared rubble was directly below – and then they were falling.

He tipped backward into darkness, falling, falling…

_No matter_, he told himself, pushing away from the other man. _ I jumped, and caught myself at the last minute._ He found his body turning in midair, like a swimmer flipping to float and perform a lazy back-stroke, and –

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

_My dog can catch better than you…_

The night was dark, and cool, and quiet. The bones of the building rose mournfully above him, the glow and sparkle of work-lights preventing star-light seeping through.

It was hard to breathe. His position was awkward. He was on his back, but… couldn't actually feel the surface beneath him, except for… the back of his head. And the heels of his feet, he thought, more of his left leg. And his right hand – he identified concrete crumbles and rough-edged chunks with bruised fingertips. He tried to shift his weight in preparation to sit up - bright stars of electric pain shot through him, and he immediately subsided.

_Oh, great_, he thought. _I've landed on that pile of rubble and crap and broken my neck or – no, then nothing would hurt. Broken my back, then, maybe_. Pain was good, then, wasn't it? It meant he wasn't paralyzed, right?

He tried again, just to wiggle fingers and toes, and again agony spiked sharply through his whole body. _Damn, that's not helpful. Then I can't even tell where I'm injured._ He grasped his magic – oh so fickle tonight, why _was_ that? – firmly, and focused it on healing himself. Never very strong or effective, and without a clear idea of what was wrong he couldn't hope for much… but still… there should have been _something_. No change.

_Try not to move. Gaius is on the way… he'll make sure you haven't broken your fool neck or something…_

He listened, remembering the black-clad attacker that he'd tackled off the building, but heard no movement anywhere near him, no sounds of breathing or… He did hear Gwaine's voice, far away, shouting. He wanted to answer, but it was hard to breathe, and it hurt, and nothing came out but a scared-puppy whine that made him clamp his lips shut hard.

_Well. I'm uncomfortable but I'm not dying and Gwaine will come for me and maybe Arthur, and… I am still and wait here in the silence, until you come and sit awhile with me…_ He could see Arthur, seating himself on the stairs in Camelot, giving him that half-grin, saying, _just hold on_.

Another voice shouted, above and with an echoing quality. "I've got two DB's here, looks like they were both shot… you wanna call it in, yet? Who do you want to call?" A pause, indistinct questioning. "No, I don't see Merlin anywhere. Maybe he can't hear us?"

Gwaine's voice called back, "Keep looking, dammit! We don't call anyone til we find him and figure out what the hell happened! Merlin! Merlin!"

_Right – right here_. His respiration was so slow, oxygen dragged shallowly into his body. He blinked and looked at the bright work-lights outlining the building-to-be. Dazzling. Brilliant. Why couldn't he move?

He tried again, tentatively, and found he could shift his right hand without too much pain. As long as he concentrated on using only small, specific muscle groups, nothing higher than his elbow. He heard his name called, again. More than one person looking for him – he had to help. Help them find him. He wriggled his fingers into a crevice between chunks of broken stone and lifted, working one piece loose of its bed of piled earth. Finally it rolled free, tumbled down the rest of the mound with a clink and a clatter and a slide of more pebbles and earth in its wake.

"I heard something! Over here!"

"Where? Outside?"

"This whole place is outside, idiot!"

"No, I mean over – oh, damn. Gwaine!" Tension he heard, and panic.

The voices lowered, mumbled together, then Gwaine called clearly down to him, a disembodied voice from the darkness behind the work-lights. "Merlin, can you hear me?" He tried to answer, but only the whisper of a thin breath passed through his throat. "Let me know if you can hear me! Merlin?"

He scraped his right hand over the rough stones, hoping it was a fast enough motion for them to see.

"There, he moved. He's alive."

"Hold on, Merlin," Gwaine called down. "I'll be there in a minute."

_Oh, good_. He let his eyes drop closed, concentrated on each breath, unconvinced that his body would keep up with the exchange of oxygen if he didn't supervise it. He attempted to use the healing magic again, with no result. It slipped from his control, drawing away, teasing, tantalizing… what the hell was _wrong_ with him?

"Hey!" Gwaine again. The direction of his voice was different, was closer. That was comforting. "Hey, are you okay? Did you fall, or –"

Merlin felt the knight reach the hill of construction debris. His movements sent fiery reverberations through Merlin's body in waves, leaving sweat standing out on his skin all over his body. He moaned in protest and Gwaine froze.

"Ray, call nine-one-one."

Oh, hell, was it that bad? Couldn't he wait for Gaius, after all?

Further away, the younger man answered, "Jason's already on the phone with the NSA –"

"Call –" Gwaine cleared his throat. "Call nine-one-one. Right now."

He heard them moving around, maybe trying to approach him without dislodging any of the chunks around him. That was considerate, and he was grateful.

"We've got another DB over here – three total," he heard Jason say. "Yes, all dressed like the intruders that broke into the Drake mansion."

Ray spoke, clearly in response to someone answering his call, "I'm calling to report an accident, I'm at the construction site just south of King's Street and Twenty-fifth. We have one injured man."

A rock clattered just beyond his right hand. "Merlin?" Gwaine's voice, gentle and slow as the knight himself, sliding in beside him. He opened his eyes, felt dirt and sand grate under his head as he turned slightly to bring his friend into his field of vision. "Can you hear me? Don't try to move. Help is coming."

"Dja call Gaius?" he slurred, and his chest hurt with the effort of forcing his voice to sound, trying to pull in air to replace what he used.

"It looks like he fell," Ray said. "He's not really moving…" He raised his voice slightly to address Gwaine, "They want to know, how bad is it?"

There was a reluctant pause. "Tell them," Gwaine said, his voice desperately calm, "he landed on some re-bar in a rubbish heap. It's – it's gone through him, it's holding him right off the ground. Arm, leg, and – chest. There's blood, but – nothing arterial."

Merlin heard Ray curse repeatedly in faint disbelief, then apologize to the dispatcher, then relay the information.

"No," he tried to tell Gwaine. There must be some bits and pieces that landed on top of him, somehow. "M'all ri'."

"Don't try to talk, Merlin, just take it easy," Gwaine instructed him, scooping up his right hand in an odd way, as if he wanted to touch him and comfort him without causing more pain.

"Doesn' real' hurt," he managed. Re-bar, he scoffed. He'd just hit some rocks or something. "Ar-thr?"

"Arthur's fine," Gwaine said. "They came for – for you, and the sword – we followed as soon as we could." He lifted his head, and his voice shook. "Jason, try Arthur again."

"He's conscious," they heard Ray tell the dispatcher. "He's talking. How long? Okay, but – _dammit_, tell them to hurry."

"Where –" he tried, and found air too scarce to force words out. He struggled a moment, and Gwaine slid in behind him, letting go of his hand in order to prop his head up with an exquisitely tender touch. Yes, that was better – easier to breathe. "Arthur – where?" he said.

"Arthur went on to Halbyon," Gwaine said. "We thought for sure they would take you there, but I guess – did you crash the car, mate? – they've only got the sword."

Sword, was all he heard. Arthur. By all the gods, _no_. "Warn 'im," he gasped. "Don' –" Gwaine moved just slightly, adjusting his own position, and Merlin found himself looking at a finger-thick length of iron poking up from his shirt a hands'-width to the right of his heart.

Oh. He felt cold ripple through him, followed by a more comfortable warmth. Well, that explained why the magic wouldn't heal him, not with the wound continuing to be inflicted. _No problem_, he thought dizzily. _Saxon's arrow – call Kilgarrah. Heal me and take me home to Camelot_.

"How long?" he heard Gwaine demand.

Magic bumped at him, nudged at his heart to get his attention, as the Scottie did, cold wet nose under the edge of his hand, when he wanted to go out to the yard. A funny feeling. An alert. Hey, heads up.

_Out to play? No, there's work to do. _

He opened his mouth to call on the power of his dragon kin, and found no words would come, no breath left. He tried to inhale – just a little air, enough for a whisper – and choked. His mouth was blocked, filling up like when salivary glands reacted to the scent of a feast after days of fasting. Only – what he tasted was the metallic tang of the iron rod. He rolled his head awkwardly in Gwaine's hands, letting the extra liquid drain thickly from the side of his mouth. He coughed, and a vicious twinge spiked through him, leaving an agonizing ache to spread and pull heavily on his limbs.

Gwaine was speaking to him, close to his ear, slow and calm and gentle, but sounding as if he wanted to scream and swear, and Merlin couldn't decipher the words.

The magic nudged more insistently, not gamboling like a pup but quivering to attention like a hunting pointer. _You're needed elsewhere. Follow_. It wasn't Uther, nor yet Thomas Drake that fought to kill Arthur, but Claude Summerall, seen only from behind, silver hair and impeccable black suit, and his moves flowed faster and faster… Arthur gave an agonized cry as blood poured freely from the rent in his shirt…

"Gw-" he whispered around the thick coppery coating in his mouth.

"Yeah, Merlin, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." If it was anyone else but this devil-may-care knight, Merlin might have thought he could hear tears in his voice. "Hold on, just a little longer, please –"

"Have to –" He struggled to gulp just one more breath, a little of the air that made speech and communication possible. "Ar-thr. Don' lemme go, Gwn. N'mattr wha' – happns. Don' – gimme – up." His mouth was filling again, the fluid trailing out the corners. Either he was twitching, or Gwaine was.

"I got you. I got you," Gwaine repeated. "Merlin – hey. Merlin?"

He heard the rise and fall of emergency sirens in the distance - the lights of the skeleton building blurring before his eyes - heard both Ray and Jason hollering far off.

And the last thing he heard was the playful careless knight who held him screaming raw, "_Move your asses, you sons'a_ _b_–"

His senses shut off, leaving him once again in darkness.

In control. _All right_, he and his magic said, leaving the site of destruction and damage, aiming power and concentration away from the helpless toward the need. _Let's go hunting_.

**A/N: I got so caught up in my plan for this story I kind of overlooked the fact that last chapter (the potluck/cocktail party) would read like a closing chapter… and then I shot it all to hell… and as I'm so focused on bringing about what I want to happen, I didn't realize how it would come across as a cliffie – so I'm sorry for that, and for this one, too, I guess! We'll have 20 chapters for sure and maybe a 21****st**** for an epilogue, depending… **

**Also, a plateful of barbequed ribs for whoever knows the 13****th**** Warrior quotes… **


	19. Ambushed

**Chapter 19: Ambushed**

Arthur took two breaths, then three. He could hear his knights' voices.

"What the hell just happened?"

"How does he think he's going to get away with –"

Leon's quiet voice, "Never underestimate a psychopath with resources."

Without straightening, Arthur raised his head, and met Gwaine's eyes – open, dark, and angry – as Percival rolled over against him.

"Pocketknife," the big knight said briefly, anger contained in that tone. Gwaine twisted, the fingers bound behind his back fumbling awkwardly for Percival's pocket.

"Got it," Gwaine said tersely, and Percival flipped to put his back to the other's. The knife snicked open.

"See if you can reach mine," Elyan said to one of the others behind Arthur.

Arthur said, "Who else came armed?" He was surprised at how steady his voice was. Percival's hands sprung apart, with a snap! of the zip-tie. "There's three hunting rifles in the cabinet in my father's den," he continued, "and ammunition. Who else has immediate access to a firearm?"

Gwaine said, "I've a Glock and a Sig in my trunk."

"Percival, can we track them?" Arthur said.

Percival rolled over to saw through the plastic restraint on Gwaine's wrists, shaking his head slowly. "This day and age," he said, "that was Merlin's job, sire." He sat up to sever the tie around his feet with a single jerk of the blade.

"Um, I think I might be able to."

Arthur twisted rapidly in his chair. Elyan had scooted the chair he was bound to next to Jason, and tipped the chair awkwardly and slowly to bring his own pocket within the younger man's reach.

Ray met Arthur's eyes. "If Merlin had his phone on him, I could track it by GPS," he said. Percival came to kneel beside Arthur, busy with his pocketknife. "And –" Ray hesitated, "well, he told me he'd put a – device or something – I don't know, very tiny, on the sword he was going to give you. He showed me how to track that, too. He said, just in case it got – stolen or something."

Arthur's hands sprung apart, and he rose from the chair. "This is a volunteer mission," he said into the silence. Just so they were all clear on that. One by one, they nodded, and it took seconds only for every man to commit. "Leon, you'll stay here with the women." The oldest knight looked briefly dissatisfied, then acquiesced. With his knee still healing, he wouldn't do them much good in the field, so to speak, and someone did have to stay behind. "Call Gaius and call Chance," he added, not having to tell Leon what to say. Then he turned toward Ray. "Get on that computer and find Merlin."

He left them freeing each other, rubbing their wrists, and strode to his father's den, next to the game room. Retrieving the set of keys for the gun case from their hidden hook inside the middle drawer of the desk, he paused briefly, seeing his reflection in the glass door of the cabinet.

Never underestimate a psychopath with resources. Summerall's plan – depending as it did upon Arthur's acquiescence - did not need to be logical to cause Merlin, and the rest of them, great harm. It was the hacker Mordred's reaction, when he knew the drone plot had failed, to send the last one aiming for Camelot. It was Xander's reaction as well, even after Merlin had been returned to them, after evidence gathered and witnesses testified, to try to set off the last bombs himself, to point the gun in Arthur's face and pull the trigger. It was a law of nature, probably, Arthur thought, unlocking the cabinet. Criminal masterminds devolved rapidly once the good guys were onto them.

Respond cautiously, and legally. That was what he'd said to Merlin, was it only days ago? Collect evidence of guilt, go to court. He smiled grimly at his reflection, and swung the cabinet door open. Not this time – they didn't _have_ the time. He would be cautious, of course, and the NSA ID in his wallet would make this legal. Probably. Either way, Summerall would find he'd challenged the wrong king. _Try answering to _this_ court._

Emerging with the rifles and the boxes of ammunition, he found the gathering room once again busy with people. The atmosphere, though, was completely different. Ray was at the computer typing nearly as fast as Merlin did, the sorcerer's laptop retrieved from his Pathfinder balanced on his knees as he worked. Gwaine was assuring himself that Jason could handle one of his two handguns, Leon had his phone in his hand. Arthur passed the weaponry off to Percival waiting silently at the doorway.

The women were mostly in shock. Kathryn hugged Katy to her pregnant belly, rocking both of them in the recliner but looking anything but relaxed. Gwen crossed to him, jiggling Andrew against her shoulder; her eyes were still angry.

"Are you both all right?" he said, quickly. Time was of the essence, but some things were important also.

"We're fine," she said. "Take care, Arthur. I'm more used to saying this to Merlin, but – bring him back safely?"

"I will," he promised her. She stepped back and he glanced around at his men, baring his teeth. "On me," he ordered, stalking to the door.

Freya held it open, and he stepped to the opposite side to let the men file past between them. Her eyes stayed on him, and when the other five had left the house, she said, firmly though her eyes were shining with unshed tears, "Get him back, Arthur Pendragon. Get it back. Bring them home."

This time he did not say, I will. He merely tightened his jaw and nodded.

Five minutes later, they were on the road.

Because the vehicles parked on the drive all had tires slashed to prevent their use, they took the two Drake cars – Arthur, Percival, and Elyan in Arthur's Mustang, which had been locked safely in the garage with the Bentley, following them with the other three.

Gwen's Phil Collins cd played, and Arthur wished he could punch the thing out, only – it wasn't superstition, but – silence would be too much, right now. _How can I just let you walk away?... Just let you leave without a trace… _

"Two vehicles, two signals," Elyan said from the backseat, where he passed on information from the other vehicle via cell phone. "Ray says it looks like they're both heading for Halbyon."

_How can you just walk away from me?... When all I can do is watch you leave… Cause we shared the laughter… and the pain… and even shared the tears…_

Arthur ground his teeth and took a turn sharply, changing gears and stomping on the gas pedal. It was Saturday night, shortly after nine o'clock. Plenty of traffic – unless you knew a way around all that. He made another turn, tires squealing, and felt rather than saw Percival's questioning glance.

"We'll cut them off if we can," he explained grimly. "Or hit them faster than they expect."

Percival agreed, in a tone of irony, "Strike first, strike hard, no mercy, sir."

"In this case – exactly." He would not allow them to do a single thing to Merlin. It was the one part of Summerall's plan that might conceivably work. _He may not know who you are by then…_ Merlin as a hostage might just hold Arthur to the terms of the ridiculous contract, might just keep them all from calling authorities and providing testimony – if you didn't know King Arthur and his knights.

_So take a look at me now… There's just an empty space… There's nothing left here to remind me… Just the memory of your face…_

Summerall expected them to sit back and allow him to move into the position of power, threatening Merlin's safety if they made protest – verbal, legal, actual – and the black-dressed men he'd hired didn't care if he was in denial about his upcoming trial or not. If the money was stable enough, that would be all they'd care about. They'd do the job they were paid for and vanish again, back to wherever they'd come from.

Arthur slowed to check for traffic – then gunned his way through a red light, swerving smoothly to miss a turning vehicle.

_Your sorcerer here is the most valuable of these three to Summerall_… Yeah, it was about the only thing Arthur agreed with. Paper was paper. Excalibur was irreplaceable – but so much useless metal, anymore. A symbol. It didn't concern him – here, there, wherever. Merlin could find it, could get it back, when this was all over. Hell, he'd even help him when and if it came to that.

But Merlin was a living, breathing person. A priceless, powerful legend. A friend, a partner, a brother. He was bound, sight and hearing and speech taken from him. Maybe they'd risk a second dose of tranquilizers after all. Maybe they'd pump him full of all kinds of perception-altering drugs, or bleed him so weak he could do nothing to resist. Maybe they'd been able to duplicate Dr. Steffan's cure – even a few hours without magic might put Merlin irretrievably under their control.

If they succeeded in spiriting him away, in hiding and keeping him, Arthur was afraid – well, without Merlin himself and his computer-manipulating magic, they'd have to search for him the old-fashioned way – stubborn and time-consuming legwork. Hope for a witness, a stray scrap of luck or accident. They could be looking for weeks. They could find Merlin as they'd found Shane – _I changed my mind; I work for Halbyon, now. That's my family_… That look of longing that flitted over his friend's features when that department of parapsychologicals was mentioned was an uneasy memory.

Somehow they'd succeeded in coercing two people to kill themselves and everyone on their flight, and a third to attempt the same. If Summerall ever broke Merlin to his command – Arthur shuddered to think.

_Take a good look at me now… 'Cause I'll still be standing here… And you coming back to me is against all odds… And that's a chance I've got to take…_ He could see Summerall acting from some foreign country, snarling Camelot in legal tangles for years with that paperwork, always threatening to send Arthur a toe or an ear if he resisted… Arthur slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and pushed harder on the accelerator.

"Arthur," Elyan said from the back seat. "Ray says the signals have split."

"We thought they were taking Merlin and the sword to Halbyon?" Percival said, twisting in the seat to look at Elyan.

"One signal is continuing on course to their headquarters building," Elyan answered, paused to listen on the phone, and relayed, "The other turned off a side street and stopped."

"Gwaine is still on their tail?" Arthur said shortly.

"Yes, sire. About five-ten minutes behind."

"Have him investigate the second signal," Arthur said. "They might be hiding the sword somewhere else. Summerall will want Merlin brought to him immediately. Hang on, it'll only be a few minutes until we're there."

Once there, Arthur rather wished he'd ordered Gwaine to continue on and join them. He parked in the ditch next to the main drive of the Halbyon corporate headquarters, where the tall lights illuminating the parking lot didn't reach.

"Scope," he said, reaching over his shoulder without looking. From here he could see a white van, the only vehicle in the lot – had it been one driven to the Drake mansion barely an hour earlier? It blocked their view of the entrance – Elyan slapped the spotter's scope into his hand, and he focused it.

The back doors of the white van were open. A pair of legs were visible below the doors, and one of the black-clad intruders stepped back, his ski mask lifted to be worn like a regular cap. Arthur shifted the scope – and a driver. There had been five in all – odds were there were more of them around. Better to expect someone that wasn't there than the alternative.

"Do you see him?" Percival said.

"He's either in the van or in the building," Arthur answered absently, still watching. Another man moved into view on the sidewalk before the building, a smaller man in a suit, lamplight gleaming from white hair. "I see Summerall, though," Arthur added. "Merlin's got to be close by."

Summerall gestured to the man outside the van, who disappeared behind it momentarily and reappeared with a dark-colored duffel. Their movements were hurried, uneasy – they were clearly preparing to leave.

"What do you want to do?" Percival said quietly.

"There's no way to approach without leaving cover and being seen," Arthur said, thinking out loud. "The question is, where is Merlin?" If the van left to bring their sorcerer elsewhere, and they didn't follow, they'd lose him. But if he'd already been taken inside, and they followed the van, they'd run the risk of losing him, too. "We can't wait," he decided. "You two, out. Elyan to the left, Percival to the right. Circle the building til you can use it for cover, then get as close as you can, and wait for my signal."

"And you, Arthur?" Elyan questioned from the back seat.

"Straight up the middle. I'll hold their attention. Summerall is arrogant; he underestimated me once." _Let's see how well he holds together in the middle of a stand-off – it's a far cry from giving orders on a phone from the safety of your office, _Arthur thought with grim satisfaction. Only, he rather wished he had the Kevlar Merlin had proposed on their last visit here. Even the chainmail would be _some_ protection.

Two doors opened, two doors shut – not slammed because the sound might carry, but pushed softly until they latched again. Arthur lifted the scope to his eye, watched the intruder load a last duffel and slam both back doors on the van. Then he and Summerall went around the passenger side of the van, where Arthur couldn't see them anymore.

For a moment he considered letting it play out until they had more information, leaving Percival and Elyan to search the building, following the van himself. But that would mean going after three men alone – not something he feared at all, but there wouldn't be a one of them who wouldn't rebuke their king for putting himself in danger alone. No, it was now, and here.

Arthur shifted the car into drive, turned into Halbyon's parking lot, rolling forward into the light, his foot light on the gas pedal.

He wasn't halfway to them when the driver's door of the van opened and the biggest black-clad figure stepped out, hand tucked warily behind his back. A moment later Summerall and the other appeared at the rear of the white van. Probably they wouldn't recognize the Mustang, wouldn't know who had driven into their parking lot at half-past nine on a Saturday night. They surely wouldn't expect _him_. He took his time, driving slowly and casually, but without being shady about it – his two knights needed time to get into position but he didn't wish to arouse undue suspicion. He pulled around toward Percival's position, and turned in behind the van, keeping the distance about twenty yard when he stopped and parked.

Stall for a few seconds more – they stared toward him, and he waited, pulse quickening, adrenalin readying his body to run or fight. His fingers itched to level the hunting rifle and fire – mm, still too risky. There could be another person in the van with Merlin.

Summerall turned to speak to the big man, who began to move forward. He added something to the second, who backed up along the passenger side of the vehicle, out of sight toward Elyan's position – fine, his brother-in-law could deal with that threat.

The big man was about halfway to the Mustang when he hesitated, leaned forward – he could probably identify Arthur by now – then spoke over his shoulder to the CEO. Summerall looked surprised, then gave an answer. The big man turned back to Arthur and brought the gun out from behind his back – _oh, surprise surprise_, Arthur thought sardonically – and motioned for him to exit his car.

He obeyed, holding his hands up to show they were empty.

This didn't seem to reassure the big man, who acted like he couldn't decide whether to point his pistol at Arthur, at the car which could also have hidden occupants, or somewhere into the darkness surrounding the well-lit parking lot. "Walk forward," he demanded, choosing Arthur. "Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see them."

"Arthur Drake," Summerall spoke first, when the big man had returned to his side, and Arthur was within ten yards. "Does your sorcerer enjoy running?"

Arthur's attention sharpened. Summerall's tie was crooked, his hair slightly mussed as if he'd run his fingers through it. His clothes were creased – this was not the immaculate CEO that had met them arrogantly in the boardroom. This was the psychopath with resources. This was Jafar rubbing the lamp, making absurd demands just because he thought he could, laughing maniacally at his victory over the one person who had dared stand in his way.

"I have heard it said," Summerall continued, "that it is impossible for a person to run after losing one or both large toes. I did not think you would be so foolish as to come here. Or do you value your sword and your realm over your sorcerer, after all?"

Arthur said, quietly and calmly, "I did not think you would be so foolish as to believe you could get away with this."

"Haven't I already?" Summerall said. "You cannot stop me. Your death will mean nothing to me, I assure you. Mine is the strength of Excalibur, and the magic of Merlin will soon be mine as well. There will be no one to stop me once that is accomplished, do you realize that? Not laws, not armies, not weapons. With him as my servant, the possibilities are limitless – just as they once were for you." He smiled, showing even white teeth and a manic gleam in his eyes. "It is my turn to be king."

Arthur couldn't stop the grin that pulled sideways at his mouth, though there was no humor in it. "I have to warn you, he's a terrible servant. Really, the worst there is – I'm speaking from experience."

Summerall was unperturbed. "You know that we have ways of encouraging cooperation," he said. The big man shifted nervously, as if he knew something or remembered something that Summerall had momentarily overlooked. Summerall added, "I would love to stay and chat, but I have a few errands to run before my vacation commences."

Arthur said to the big man with the gun, "You do realize that none of you is going to get away, don't you? You're only adding to your jail time."

The big man shrugged with bravado. "Money in the bank, gas in the tank," he said. "We'll disappear. We've done it before."

Arthur held his hands out a little further. "We've called the NSA," he said. "Agents will be here any minute. I will make you a deal, and if you're clever you'll take it. Give me Merlin back, and we'll let you drive away before they get here."

Summerall studied him. "I can have you shot right now, as a warning to your men not to meddle with me, and still drive away in time." The big man next to him glanced uneasily toward the road as if expecting lights and sirens any second.

Arthur said persuasively. "Don't you know your history?" A few more moments, just a little more time – Chance would come, Elyan and Percival would be within range. "You should know that you cannot separate Arthur and Merlin."

Summerall showed his teeth again, fidgeting now in his impatience. "And yet, it has been done before, hasn't it?" he said. "No, I don't believe I'm willing to negotiate anymore, tonight." He made a commanding gesture toward the big man, and he raised the pistol to point at Arthur's heart.

Arthur made ready to dive for the ground a split-second before the trigger was pulled –

A high-pitched whine preceded a spitting sound, and both overlapped the sharp report of a distant rifle. Arthur instinctively knelt, making himself a smaller target, just in case he was wrong about the sound of the weapon. The big man let the pistol drop slowly, touching his fingers to the red wetness spreading in the center of his chest, turning startled eyes to Summerall, then Arthur, before collapsing to his knees, then his face on the parking lot asphalt.

Arthur smiled. That was Percival, then, for sure – a fine marksman with a long-barreled rifle, though he was more accustomed to the rapid-burst style of weaponry the military used. Arthur moved forward, scooping up the fallen pistol, then sideways to the walk. Summerall raised his hands, but he didn't bother pointing it at the older man.

"Get my Merlin out of the van," he ordered, as pleasantly as he was able, still glancing to each side. Percival would probably join them, now, but of Elyan and the second - there had been no sound of conflict from that direction, but it wasn't smart to lower his guard too soon.

Summerall, eyes wide with fear and face purple with anger, backed up around the rear of the van to the side door. Arthur side-stepped to stay clear of man and vehicle, keep his lines of sight open. No others had burst from the van or the building, he could probably assume the three they'd seen were the only enemy here. Summerall reached for the latch of the door, pulled it to disengage. It opened toward Arthur, obscuring his view of the interior. Summerall reached forward.

"He's heavy, I need help," the older man said shortly, unhappily.

Arthur stepped closer, again moving to the side for a clearer view of the inside of the van, to determine placement and positioning of Merlin's body – he reached the edge of the sidewalk and as he stepped down, his glance dropped automatically to check his footing.

Summerall whirled – steel glinted brightly, springing forth from his hand – Arthur leaped back, feeling a sharp sting along his right side, continuing down his forearm as he flung out his own hand to avoid the slash. The pistol flew from his grasp, but instincts and reflexes kicked in to compensate. Disarmed did not mean defenseless. He ducked and dodged as Summerall swung the replica sword at him, clumsy as a novice knight but still with some rudimentary training evident. The blade was heavy and sharp, and Arthur had no shield, he was forced to retreat further from the van.

Where was Percival and his rifle? Where were Elyan and the second assailant? _Wake up, Merlin_! he demanded silently.

Arthur caught his heel on the curb and stumbled back, Summerall driving at him with an expression of manic glee. He spun away, scrambling to his feet, facing his foe and lowering his center of gravity for the fight. He gave ground slowly, backing toward the Mustang where his own rifle waited for him to get his hands on it, yet still watching, waiting for his opening.

He had been _born_, he reminded himself, with a sword in his hand, once upon a time. Summerall may have had lessons, but he had training. Experience. And youth.

_There_! – instinct flashed into the opening as he leaned back to avoid a slash at his neck, bending supple as a reed and snapping back into place before the swing was complete. One hand on Summerall's forearm momentarily halted the blade's return, the other he punched ruthlessly into the older man's face.

Summerall stumbled back, loosening his grip in surprise. Arthur pressed forward, giving the older man a vicious shake – the sword clattered to the ground and he shoved Summerall away to give himself the space to retrieve the replica.

A wave of fatigue crashed over him and he found himself inexplicably on his knees, the sword sliding away from him under his hand as his body collapsed, as his muscles refused to obey him and his eyelids dragged heavily downward. He felt something hard nudge his ribs, his body rolled, and the lights swirled briefly in his vision before he focused on Summerall's face next to the returned ski-masked man.

He swore internally, since his lips would not move. What had happened to his knights? What had happened to _him_?

"It didn't work on him?" Summerall's voice, a note of complaint. "He's not completely asleep."

Black shoulders shrugged. "Does it matter? He can't fight back anymore." Arthur recognized the voice of the leader of the group of home-invaders.

Summerall knelt at Arthur's side to retrieve the sword. "Meet one of my sorcerers," he said. Arthur remembered Wendy saying, _Mr. Summerall has a few for his private security detail…_

"My skill is only telepathy-related," the black-masked leader told him. "But often very useful." White teeth flashed in the black mask. "Both your men are napping where they fell."

"It's a pity," Summerall said, standing, "you won't have the opportunity to punish them for sleeping on the job, hm?" He adjusted his grip on the sword, rather theatrically, in Arthur's opinion.

He fought against the deadly lethargy and couldn't so much as twitch a finger. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

Summerall raised the sword, preparing to stab downward – his eyes flicked to the side and he froze. "What is that?" he said stiffly to his hired man. From close to Arthur's left side rose a palm-size globe of swirling blue-and-white light that tugged on his memory and soothed him to his soul. The CEO glanced fearfully at the masked man, who raised his pistol. "Whatever you're doing, make it stop," he warned Arthur.

He could do nothing and say nothing anyway; he merely waited. The pistol shifted abruptly to menace the floating light. For a single instant they stood thus – and the trigger was pulled, twice in quick succession.

Arthur was the only one not surprised to see the bullets halted in midair, a foot shy of the orb, which pulsed with the slow, steady rhythm of a heartbeat. Arthur had time to think, _I am Emrys – oh, be careful_ – and the two bullets disappeared. The black-clad body jerked back, stumbled, and crashed backward to the ground motionless.

Summerall transferred his glare from the blue-lit globe to Arthur. At the moment of the black-masked man's death, energy had poured back into body and mind, and as Summerall swung, Arthur flipped away.

Time seemed to slow. He felt an easy, confident strength as he dodged the flashing blade, rolling to spring to his feet. Summerall attacked again and he anticipated the thrust, sensing the clear light vitality of Merlin's magic at his back. He spun and back-stepped at once, allowing the blade to pass beneath his left elbow, trapping Summerall's arm and reaching to pluck the blade from his grip. He completed the rotation like dancing, light on his feet and perfectly positioned – and faced Summerall fully prepared to stab the blade through his opponent's body.

He paused, just as the orb hovering beside him throbbed. Summerall took one step back, abject terror on his face as if he had not truly understood the truth of the legends until now.

Images flashed through Arthur's mind – a robber-king on his knees, refusing to sign a treaty even to save his life – a coldblooded schemer revealed for the grieving father he was. Choices. And Merlin's voice sounding in his heart, saying different words, but always the same thing. Justice tempered with mercy. _Not you, not here and now, not like this_. Even a hint of teasing – _cautiously and legally_…

"Surrender," Arthur demanded. It might have been an odd word to use, depending as it did upon the honor of the enemy, but it was one that came comfortably to his mouth. He began to straighten, allowing the raised blade to drop.

Summerall, still trying to retreat from him, stumbled over the edge of the sidewalk, tripped over the body of his hired man. Summerall's hand found, lifted, aimed the other pistol, the intent clear and deadly and sudden.

He never fired it. The pistol exploded in his hand, shrapnel gouging red furrows in his face, his hand a bloody mess. Summerall screamed and screamed, hunching over the hand. Arthur, untouched, stumbled to his side and fell to his knees.

Hurried and uncaring of any extra pain he caused, he yanked the tail of the man's shirt from his trousers, tucked the injured arm into it, and wrapped the tail of the shirt up over the mangled hand. Then he forced Summerall's suit jacket off his other arm, bringing it around and wrapping it for extra padding, bandaging, whatever, around the man's torso. Finally he pulled the knot free from Summerall's silk tie, used it to secure the jacket and tie the whole mass tightly. Field dressing. First aid. Best he could do and if the man bled to death… so be it. Summerall had slumped back, half-conscious and whimpering, and Arthur let him lie.

The blue globe hung in the air to his left, just over an arms-length away, the light glowing in a slower pattern, now – that calmed Arthur, seemed to reassure him that it was all over. The danger was past.

He could hear his knights approaching, calling his name. He could hear sirens now, in the distance – that would be Chance's men, most likely. His feet carried him forward to the van, and he shoved the side door open. No Merlin, only Summerall's skipping-the-country luggage. _Inside, then_, he thought, turning toward the building, knowing that was wrong even as he thought it. Why would they move their captured sorcerer, bound and drugged, inside the building when they were in a hurry to leave? They wouldn't.

The sword in his hand hummed, their connection so intimate he didn't even remember putting it down to tend Summerall, nor picking it up once he'd finished. The hilt was familiar from long use, the leather not spongy-new but minutely compressed where his fingers had gripped it many times before. His eyes dropped to the blade in horror. _This is the real one_. Which meant that the other vehicle, the other signal, had been Merlin's.

But – the magic? That had been Merlin's magic. He turned his head to the left, where the blue-and-white swirled globe hung. It trembled, it expanded and contracted like a gasp for air, the white wisps inside fluttering like a trapped butterfly. Then it rose, slowly dimming the farther it traveled upwards, until he couldn't distinguish it from the stars.

And he couldn't see if it had gone out.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

They passed the arriving ambulance moments after they pulled out of the parking lot of Halbyon, Incorporated, to the main road. Moments, or _hours_ later, it seemed. Though by the clock, minutes only. Ticking by, regular as a heartbeat.

Arthur was in the passenger seat of Chance's Chrysler. 10:14, the numbers on his center console declared. Saturday night. If they made it to Inova in half an hour, they'd be lucky. He allowed himself one bitter huff of a laugh – riding in Chance's car, he'd arrive at the hospital before Summerall did in the ambulance.

He noticed something. Chance's music playing almost inaudibly in the background. Neil Diamond – somehow Arthur wasn't surprised to find Gibson Chance a Neil Diamond kind of guy. _Come back again… I want you to stay this time…_

Chance glanced at him. "Let's start at the beginning," he suggested. Arthur recognized the agent's attempts to distract him, and didn't know whether to be grateful or frustrated. A little of both, maybe. "Tell me step by step everything that happened at the house." '_Cause sometimes the world ain't kind… When people get lost, like you… and me…_

So he did, in short, terse sentences. The flash-bangs, waking up tied to the chair. The demand for cooperation, the threat against Merlin. _A friend is someone you need… _ His signature – he skipped the part about the sword, which after all was stolen property, and the part where they wanted the sorcerer for his magic and not just as a hostage – Merlin dragged out his front door.

_But now that he has to go… away/ I still feel the words that he… might… say_…

Arthur related dispassionately the decisions that followed – to act immediately, to follow and track them down. That the two vehicles they were following had split, which brought them to Halbyon. The strategy took seconds only to explain to an NSA agent, a basic pincer movement with a distraction in the middle.

"So Spiers fired his rifle at John Doe number one as he tried to shoot you," Chance clarified. "Meanwhile John Doe two had located and knocked Bell unconscious, circled to take Spiers out the same way, and arrived as you were disarming Summerall of the sword."

"Yes." A sword which was taken into the custody of the agents as evidence, along with the three hunting rifles. It might have been amusing, in another situation, Excalibur itself, wrapped in paper and red tape in an evidence locker in the NSA's basement.

"And then – there was a struggle and John Doe two was shot with his own pistol?" A struggle – no, just the opposite. The serene cool emanating from the manifestation of Merlin's magic was intense but not violent. The radio played, _Turn on your heartlight… let it shine wherever you go… _

"Yes." His throat felt dry. _Let it make a happy glow… for all the world to see… _

Chance made a sound of polite interest. "And when Summerall tried to shoot you with that weapon, a round exploded in the chamber?"

"Yes." _Turn on your heartlight_… His eyes blurred, and he wiped the moisture away without apology.

"And then we arrived?"

Arthur swallowed hard and resisted the urge to reach out to the controls of the agent's sound system. Just as on the ride to Halbyon, he knew the silence would be worse. "Yes," he said evenly. _He's lookin' for a home… 'Cause everybody needs a place…_

Chaos had descended on the scene, literally holding him back from retrieving his phone and making the call to Gwaine. Lights flashing, red and blue – and not the one he kept glancing around for. Agents and knights and corpses. Questions. Rudimentary first aid on the scratches on his side and forearm, long but shallow, bleeding in tiny forced droplets and mostly dry, even now. The ambulance called for Summerall.

_A home's the most excellent place… of all/ And I'll be right here, if you… should… call me… _

And the agent who'd interrupted to say, _Gib, phone call_. _Team Two says they've secured the secondary site – they're dealing with three DBs and emergency personnel is handling one serious injury. _He'd turned to Arthur, interrupting the spiking concern to say casually, _Oh, and Kraft says he's been trying to get a hold of you_.

Arthur found he was gripping his silent phone – turned off, too many people had called with too many questions, and no one with any answers - too tightly in his lap and released it. His fingers were trembling. Chance glanced over at him, uneasy again in the silence. Outside the car, the soft rush of air, the hum of tires on the road, the engine as the agent slowed or sped up, according to traffic.

_Arthur_. Gwaine's voice as he answered Arthur's call more harsh than he'd ever heard his roguish knight. _What the hell, why haven't you – you're all right?_ Yes, we're all fine, scrapes and bruises – Gwaine, who's dead and who's injured? _The guys who broke in are dead, three of them, it was all over when we got here. Merlin is… Merlin is…_

In the background he had heard voices, blunt with tension, giving orders in tones that made Arthur think of movie scenes in ORs and on battlefields. And some kind of machinery or equipment… Gwaine – what happened?

_He fell._

Arthur let his head drop down to his hand, his elbow propped against the armrest on the car door. _Hellfire_, he thought miserably. "He always falls," he whispered.

"Come again?" Chance said.

"Merlin, he –" Arthur had to clear his throat. "Kid is a klutz. Always has been. Just about every day, he'd be tripping over something…" And he'd bounce right back up again like nothing happened. It was better in this life, somehow… He shook his head to clear the thought. Not important.

So, what? Broken bones? he'd said to his knight on the phone, preparing to be irritated that Gwaine had panicked over nothing, really. Couple weeks in a cast, maybe a couple of months… _No, he – rebar?_ A long pause, as though Gwaine wanted him to guess, to understand, so he didn't have to say more. It took Arthur's brain a moment to catch up, to gather a mental picture of what the term described. How bad? How bad could it be, if his magic was able to materialize at Arthur's side? _It went through him_…

Through. Leaning back on the Mustang, clutching his phone in his hand, Arthur had bent right over as if he would be sick. He couldn't even say, where? That was when Chance had come to his side and offered to drive him to the hospital. Have his own cuts treated properly, give his statement on the way, Spiers and Bell could stay at the scene as long as necessary, and drive his car back. Yes, thank you. Gwaine, I'm coming…

But if that wasn't bad enough, Gwaine had continued. _They're almost finished cutting him free now…_ Ye gods, the machinery noises – every nerve in Arthur's chest cringed. Someone yelled at Gwaine, _get back, dammit, stay out of our way._ And Gwaine again, slightly frantic, _Merlin! Merlin! Is he breathing?_ Arthur caught more words, technical terms jumbled together and making no sense to him – were they supposed to be reassured, or preparing for the worst? Gwaine, curtly, _I gotta go, I'm riding with him_. Repeated, louder, defiantly, _I'm riding with him!_

"Arthur," Chance said, beside him in the car. "I'm sure he'll be fine. I mean, he is who he is, right?" Another song clicked over on the cd. _After all these years… after all these tears between us/ Still I couldn't find… someone half as right as you/ And each time I stop to think… what it is I really need…_

"That's no guarantee," Arthur said bluntly. It wasn't before. Being King Arthur and having Merlin there at his side did not prevent him dying, before.

_ How was I to know… we'd have ended here… where we finally did…_

The last thing Arthur remembered, Merlin's arms around him, tears on his face, the desperate anguish in his voice. _No – stay with me_. Would he even have the chance to take his dying friend in his arms? Or would the doctor emerge from some realm where no one else was allowed, white and sterile and stinking of antiseptic defeat, to tell them, _we did all we could_…

"Can you drive any faster?" Arthur said, not caring what his voice sounded like. Chance glanced at him, then pushed the accelerator.

_Have I… spent so many years/ Tryin' but in vain… to… tell you… _It was his turn to say, no, stay with me. If anyone could find a way to obey such an order from his king, against all odds, it would be Merlin. Arthur wouldn't contemplate the alternative.

_Don't you know it's true… all I really need is you…_

**A/N: Everyone got the Karate Kid quote, right?**

**OK, bit of clarification that I hope showed up the way I planned to, in this chapter. I'm aware that the kidnapping scene in Arthur's house has **_**significant**_** holes. That was intentional, to show Summerall's state of mind – not used to losing or being outsmarted, etc. he simply retaliates… It's kind of a handicap, if you're not going to do a villain pov, to describe their mindset through the others' reactions… sorry I didn't do as well as I thought I had…**

**And please give Leon a break with his fiancée… he always does the good thing, the right thing, the expected thing – let the guy be impulsive for once in his life? :D**

**And last but not least, thank you to guest reviewers who I can't thank in person by PM!**


	20. Awaited

**Chapter 20: Awaited**

Arthur saw Gwaine first.

He strode down the hospital hallway, trying to hurry as fast as possible without alerting any curious strangers to the severity of the situation he found himself in. To that end, he kept his arm pressed tight to his side, to hide the bloodstained rip in his shirt. At the end of the hall, a door was open to the General Surgery waiting room, giving a clear view of the two chairs on the end of the row that was backed up to the high counter of the nurse-on-duty's desk.

Gwaine sat with his elbows on his knees and his fingers threaded through his longish dark hair, apparently staring straight down at the carpeted floor. There was a tension in his posture that conversely eased Arthur – it meant the knight was still waiting for news, not in shock or grieving The News.

Arthur paused in the doorway to catch his breath, try to calm his rapid heartbeat. Now that he was here, he found he was simultaneously eager to find out everything, and dreading what that would include. At closer look, he realized that Gwaine was filthy – shirt and jeans smudged as though he'd been rolling in the dirt. And there was blood. Glancing around, he saw Ray and Jason in a far corner, shoulder to shoulder, both blank-faced, each lost in his own thoughts.

"Gwaine?" he said finally, approaching.

His knight looked up, pale and haggard, and wavered slightly as he stood. "Arthur," he said, and his eyes dropped to the tear in Arthur's shirt, the line of scrounged band-aids marching down his arm. "You're okay?" he said uncertainly.

"Fine," Arthur replied shortly. "_Merlin_."

"He – ah, hell, Arthur." Gwaine shook his head, tears starting to his eyes.

"Where is he now?" Arthur said.

"Surgery."

Good. Best place for him. There was still a tight frantic feeling in his chest that resisted soothing, but he knew how to deal with that - a methodical addressing of the facts, since there was nothing they could do anyway but wait, now. "Sit down," he instructed Gwaine. "Start from the beginning."

"We followed the signal until it went dead," Gwaine said, and winced at his choice of words. "We found the SUV on its side, where it had jumped a curb and crashed through a fence into a construction site. No occupants, but we did see his zip-ties that had been cut. We proceeded into the lower level of the site…"

Arthur could see them, just the way they'd been trained – not walking in, shouting carelessly, but creeping warily, probably with two of them armed and ready, spread out but within sight of each other.

"We found Merlin's phone, all smashed to hell," Gwaine said bitterly. "We found a couple of tranq-darts. Shell casings. But no blood. Looked like they chased him all over the first and second levels of the place. Arthur, they had every opportunity to just walk away… Then we found the bodies." Gwaine sat back in his chair across from Arthur, eyes flickering around the room to make sure they were alone and could not be overheard. "One man _here_, and one man _here_." He demonstrated with his hands. "Both with their guns in hand, both shot. I'd bet dollars to doughnuts he tricked them into shooting each other, somehow."

A brief stab of pride, warm and painful. _That's my boy_, Arthur thought, wishing he could ruffle his knuckles through his sorcerer's shaggy black hair. "And then," he said quietly.

"Then we looked over the edge and saw – the third guy, probably dead on impact. And Merlin. He – wasn't moving, only a little. Looked like he was just lying there." The knight cleared his throat. "We went back down to the first level, and out to get him. That's when I saw…" Gwaine gritted his teeth and gave his head one abrupt shake. "It's something I won't ever be able to forget," he told Arthur grimly. "It was – he was – Arthur, he –"

"Arthur!" someone else said, in a tone of urgent relief, and they were both on their feet in an instant.

"Gaius," Arthur said, wincing at the old man's stern ashen worry.

"Have they got him in surgery?" Gaius demanded, giving them both a once-over. Gwaine nodded, and the old man began to check Arthur's arm, then his side, moving as if by rote, assuring himself of the insignificant nature of the marks with half his attention. "Now, tell me of Merlin's injuries," he went on resolutely, seating himself and motioning them to do the same. "Pierced by lengths of metal rods?"

The nerves in Arthur's chest mimicked that phrase at the gruesome bluntness of the question; Gwaine nodded again.

"How many, and where?" the old physician questioned firmly, and in the face of the calm strength of Merlin's grandfather, Arthur found it easier to compose himself.

Gwaine evidently felt the same way. He took a deep breath as they collapsed into their chairs at just about the same time, and said in a steadier voice, "Three. The – right leg, near the knee. The – left forearm. And – the right side of his chest."

Gaius asked more questions, clarifying exact placement, Arthur assumed, and guessing proximity to arteries, bones, organs. Gathering as much medical information as he could without being able to examine or treat Merlin himself - though Arthur thought that the old man was probably as relieved as any of them that he was no longer faced with that responsibility.

Arthur listened with only half an ear, sickened by the growing realization of the timing, of what condition Merlin's body had been in when the orb of manifest magic had appeared to strengthen, encourage, and protect _him_. It reminded him not only of the one other time he'd seen that blue light, aiding him in a dark cave when escape and survival seemed impossible, and Merlin left behind in Camelot in a poisoned delirium – but also of the desperate flight from the loosed spirits of the dead, the futile attempt to hide, and Merlin shoving him back to take the full force of that deadly onslaught himself.

He snapped back to the conversation when Gwaine got to the part of the story, "They had to cut through the rebar to free him. They left the – pieces –"

Gaius nodded in approbation. "Much better to remove them surgically," he commented.

Ready to push the disturbing tale to its conclusion, Arthur said, "You rode in the ambulance with him, then?" Ray and Jason must have driven the Bentley, in that case.

A tear spilled down Gwaine's face as he nodded – and Arthur was quite sure it was the first one he'd seen from this man _ever_. "They – had to revive him – twice," he told them with difficulty. "The third time they said, _he's gone_. They said, _shall we call TOD_?" Arthur felt the incongruous sensation of falling backward, though he was secure in his chair. The knight gave a grunt of a self-deprecating laugh. "I told them I'd shoot them if they stopped trying…"

"Gwaine," Arthur whispered, and Gaius patted his knee, the corners of his mouth pulled down in an effort to hold back his own emotion.

"He told me, _don't let me go_," Gwaine said. "I promised him that I wouldn't give him up, no matter what."

"Oh, _hell_," Arthur said. "He knew then, didn't he?"

"What did he know?" Gaius questioned.

"Summerall came at me with Excalibur," Arthur said, and at their exclamations of concern, he gave a disgusted look. "_Summerall_, remember?" he said. "Not a problem, til his bodyguard showed up – and he had magic." This time he let their expressions of startled shock go unprotested. "Sleeping spell, can you believe it? It didn't work all the way, but – they tried to shoot me, and –"

"And Merlin protected you," Gaius finished for him, sad and proud at once.

"Yes. Seems all five of the men who attacked us are dead."

Gwaine bared his teeth in a fierce bright-eyed grin. "Couldn't have happened to nicer bastards," he pronounced. "And Summerall?"

"Grabbed a gun," Arthur said. "Chance said a round exploded in the chamber. Blew the hell out of his hand."

The dark-haired knight laughed suddenly, a hard edge in his mirth. He leaned forward to take Arthur's left hand gently between both of his, filthy and still faintly smeared with Merlin's blood. "Serves him right," he stated deliberately.

Arthur looked down at the faint scars left from Merlin's healing. "Yeah, guess so," he said.

"He won't be coming up here, will he?" Gwaine added.

"No, that would be orthopedics, rather than general surgery," Gaius assured them. "A different floor, a different wing."

"Good, because if they brought him in here, I might be tempted to –" Gwaine leaned back in his chair, pushing his hands in his pockets, then froze. He withdrew his hands, cradling two small objects. "I forgot," he said stupidly. "They gave me these when they – well, they had to cut his clothes off…" He handed the larger of the two to Gaius.

Merlin's watch. The two younger men watched the grandfather handle it with trembling, wrinkled fingers. The leather band was ruined, soaked and stiffened with blood, but Gaius wet his thumb and rubbed the face of the watch clear. They watched the second hand tick round the circumference of the instrument, steady and without hurry, and it was oddly reassuring.

The second was tiny and exquisite, perfect and unspoiled, protected as it must have been in Merlin's hip pocket. Gwaine reached without thinking to give it to Arthur, who accepted it without hesitation. The engagement ring intended for Freya, the delicate engraving reminiscent of waves, the light clear blue of the stone a near-exact match for the depths of Merlin's magic made visible. They all three looked at it a moment, and it seemed to Arthur that he held his friend's hope and love and future in the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers around it before the others noticed the trembling.

As if by common consent, Gwaine and Gaius both turned away in silence. Arthur pushed to his feet and went to the newest members of the Round Table, on the other side of the waiting room. This wasn't the first action they'd seen during their employment with Camelot, and wouldn't be the last, if they stayed. Both young men stood to face him, and if they looked drawn and wearied and even a little haunted, they also met his gaze levelly, openly. Good men, both of them, he wasn't sorry for including them.

"Ray, Jason," he said. "You're all right?"

They nodded. "Is he –" Jason said, gesturing toward the closed doors leading to the operating theatres.

"We don't know. Gaius thinks the surgery might take – several hours. You both have people depending on you, waiting on you. Take the Bentley, go on back to the mansion. Help make sure everyone gets home okay."

"And will you –" Ray added.

"I'll keep you posted," Arthur promised.

As they left, he began to wander between the rows of chairs, straight up, spin around, then down again. He took out his phone to text Leon, **M in surg. Will wait here w/ gaius, send msg when theyre done.** To Percival he wrote: **When nsa lets u go, take ur girls & go home. B w/ them, will call f ur needed.** To Elyan he added, **Plz get gwen & Andrew hom asap n stay w/ them?**

Then he steeled himself to make the two phone calls he dreaded most. To his own wife, first – I'm fine, I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promise to bring him home safely – I hope I still can.

He pushed his hand into his pocket, rubbed his thumb and forefinger lightly together in the middle of the delicately fashioned ring. And then the call to Freya.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

**Saturday. 10:51 pm**. Chance had parked the car and delayed his arrival to give them all some time. He spoke to Gwaine, keeping his questions short, and quiet. And then he'd gone again, assuring Arthur that he'd handle whatever needed to be handled, legally speaking.

**11:35 pm**. Freya arrived, by herself. She looked pale, but composed. Arthur took one step toward her as soon as he noticed her in the doorway of the waiting room, but she had eyes only for Gaius, standing at the duty nurse's desk. The old man turned, saw her, and met her halfway, each taking the other in their arms.

Gwaine stood also, fidgeted to the side until they separated. "I am so sorry," he told Freya, who reached to put her arms around his neck, also.

Then she turned to Arthur, who felt as if he should go down on his knees to beg her forgiveness, or something. She stepped close to him, her face pale but calm, her eyes dark and expressionless. He said nothing, waited for her well-deserved fury. Instead she put one elbow around his neck, drawing him down, slipping her other arm gently around his injured side. He didn't dare to touch her, but he could feel her drawing breaths that stopped just short of sobs.

"I'm sorry," he said then, breathing in gasps himself against her shoulder. He was surprised at the strength in her petite frame.

"You know Merlin," she reminded him in a whisper. "He would prefer it this way. It would be much harder for him to wait here, than to be in there. He would give himself to keep this from any one of us. You know that."

Yes, he did. It didn't make it any easier to be the one waiting for the surgeon's prognosis.

**Sunday. 4:02 am**. The double doors opened, and a tall raw-boned man with thick glasses, a white cap covering his sandy hair, and scrubs to match emerged. Even as the four of them came eagerly to their feet, Arthur noticed the absence of gloves, mask, gown, little paper covers for his tennis shoes. The surgery was over, he had done as much as he could.

"Friends and family, Marvin Caroban?" he said.

"Yes," Gaius agreed quickly, taking Freya's hand. Arthur and Gwaine, flanking the two, were included.

"He's out of surgery now – successful surgery," the doctor told them, and the three men exhaled in relief. Freya drew breath in, seemed to stand a little taller. "He's got numerous scrapes and bruises, of course - but three serious injures that we repaired. The leg wound, to the lateral side of the lower end of the femur, missed the bone. Flesh wound. Painful, but easy to repair. If all goes well, he can try walking on it in ten to fourteen days.

"The damage to the left forearm was a little more severe," he went on. "The iron rod struck the ulna pretty directly. We removed – well, a number of bone fragments, and placed a row of pins holding the remainder of the bone in place. That'll take at least three months healing and therapy time, before he has full use of the limb, however –" he paused as though something had just occurred to him, "the main nerve line was quite damaged as well as the muscle, he may find that he suffers lingering numbness, a decrease in gripping strength, a loss of a measure of dexterity in the last two or three fingers."

_Ah, Merlin_. Arthur thought of the way the sorcerer's long fingers flashed over the keyboards of his computer system. Gwaine looked slightly green, but Arthur was surprised how well Gaius and Freya were both taking the news.

"However," the surgeon continued, and the relief that had begun to bloom in Arthur's heart chilled. "It is the possible complications of the chest wound which concern us most. Two ribs were cracked, one to the anterior – ah, one in back and one in front. Those will heal on their own, given time and rest. But the right lung collapsed some few minutes before the EMTs reached Marvin, according to their report. They were able to resuscitate him – more than once, I understand – but the question of brain damage due to depleted oxygen won't be answered til he regains consciousness. We updated his tetanus vaccination and he's on antibiotics to combat any infection that might result from the nature of the injury. And of course he'll be in danger of contracting pneumonia for some time, until he can use both lungs fully and freely, on his own."

"On his own?" Gaius and Arthur said at once.

"Yes, he's on a respirator now, just to be on the safe side," the surgeon responded. "Keep those O2 levels up. He didn't lose too terribly much blood, but we gave him an extra half-pint anyway."

"Can we see him now?" Arthur asked, his voice sounding gruff, but the others didn't seem to take notice.

"Hm. Intensive care rules are immediate family only," the surgeon said dubiously.

"We're as immediate as his family gets," Gwaine growled.

The surgeon raised bushy sandy eyebrows, and Gaius drew himself up with the authority of years – of _centuries_. "I am his grandfather," he said. "We are his family."

The surgeon looked at them and finally said, "Three names on the visitor's list."

Gwaine took half a step backward. "You three, then," he said.

"If all goes well, he should be out of ICU in a couple of days, a week at the very most," the surgeon said. He glanced over his shoulder, and through the small window on the double-hinged doors Arthur saw medical personnel wheeling a hospital bed almost thirty yards away at the end of the hall.

It was too far to see any detail before they entered a room on the right, only the tousled mass of black hair at the head of the bed.

**4:22 am**. Gwaine had stated his intention of calling a cab to drive him home, and finding a way to return, later that morning, but promised first to let everyone know the news. Gaius and Freya had scrubbed and covered their clothing so they could be taken straight to Merlin's room. Arthur, on the other hand, found himself submitting impatiently to a nurse's attention. He traded his bloodied, ripped shirt for a spare scrub top, exchanged his pitiful row of band-aids for a professional cleansing and re-bandaging job before he was allowed to join them.

The light was dimmed in the room, as though Merlin was only sleeping and might be disturbed. Monitors blinked and beeped in a subdued way, the respirator clicked and soughed as it kept the sorcerer's body alive. Gaius was checking the equipment, adjusted the clear plastic mask that distorted his grandson's features in a way that spoke poignantly of medical training combined with a more tender desire for the patient to be comfortable, even unconscious. His hand was light on Merlin's left shoulder, just upward from the bandaging of the arm that rested lightly in the immobilizing sling suspended from the framework of the top of the bed.

Freya had drawn a chair up to Merlin's right side. She traced the dragon tattoo with one finger, a dark shape indistinct in the shadows, then reached for the fingers of his right hand, curled limply on the crisp sheet that covered the rest of his body. With her other hand she smoothed a wrinkle from the sheet.

Arthur lingered awkwardly in the doorway, deciding he had a love-hate relationship with hospitals. Eternally grateful for the skills, services, and substances which saved lives – his and Merlin's – he nevertheless hated the sounds, the smells that reminded him how fragile, how fleeting was life. Even the life of someone like Merlin.

He was too quiet, and too still. Even sleeping, his friend had always been prone to changing position – rolling over, twitching, an occasional minute of light snoring. An unconscious Merlin, motionless and silent, only heightened the feeling of anxiety.

"You should speak to him, Arthur," Gaius suggested softly.

Arthur gripped the raised panel that formed the foot of the bed. "Hey," he said hoarsely. No response, though Freya and Gaius both glanced at Merlin's face, obscured by the oxygen mask, he hadn't really expected one. "You wanted me to stay with you, Merlin, well, here I am. Barely a scratch on me, thanks to you and your magic."

He wanted to punch Merlin's shoulder in a show of affection, to laugh when his friend pulled a face and pretended it had hurt. He wanted to flick the bottom of Merlin's feet under the blue-green cotton blanket and tease him for being ticklish when he reacted. But the thought that he would inevitably cause more pain and still have no reaction to show for it threatened to break the dam holding all emotion inside him; he thought he'd end up sobbing into Merlin's sheets like a baby.

"It's your turn now, Merlin," he told him. The respirator choked and sighed, the artificial rise and fall of Merlin's chest the only movement. "Stay with me."

**8:13 am**. Gaius opened the blinds on the room's small window. Freya sat motionless in her seat, her head rested against the thin hospital mattress beside Merlin's upper arm, her eyes open but unfocused.

Arthur stretched muscles stiff from the abuse of the evening before, the tension of the night, and the hours spent propped against the wall of the hospital room opposite the bed. A desire hit him, sudden in its intensity, to see Merlin shift, rebellious in his sleepiness, and complain to his grandfather, _five more minutes_…

The respirator forced oxygen into Merlin's lungs, drew the breath back out again.

**8:30 am**. The nursing staff shooed them from the room. One hour, they were told. The doctor wanted to do an examination, and they needed a chance to clean up the rest of him.

Gwen was in the waiting room, Andrew asleep in the hooded car-seat at her feet. "I brought breakfast," she announced, giving Freya and then Gaius quick hugs, passing them a large plastic bag holding several Styrofoam containers. "Elyan is parking the car; he'll be up in a few minutes." Then she turned to Arthur, assessing the loaned scrub top and the bandage on his right forearm, elbow to wrist.

"It's nothing, really," he told her. "They're making sure I don't contaminate Merlin, or something."

She stood on tiptoes to put her arms tightly around his neck, and he held her close, breathing in her fragrance and absorbing some of her strength. "How is he?" she whispered.

He sighed into the shoulder of her shirt, and bit back a bitter instinctive response. "He's stable," he told her, stepping back. "Still unconscious."

"How are you?" she said to him softly. He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Her brown eyes were sympathetic, understanding everything he hadn't said.

In addition to breakfast, Gwen had brought him a change of clothes. She insisted on driving Freya back to her apartment for similar care, as well as a nap. Arthur pressured Gaius to adopt the idea also, and after the old man had spoken to the day-surgeon and checked Merlin one more time, he acquiesced.

That left Arthur alone with the unconscious sorcerer. He hunted around the room for a moment to locate a power outlet that was not being used by the myriad needs of the life-support system, and found one in the corner. Setting the small clock radio – the last contribution from his wife - on the window-sill, Arthur set the time out of habit, and pressed the small slide-switch to "on". Static fuzzed briefly as he adjusted the volume, but he didn't touch the station control.

"Come on, Merlin," he said quietly.

Minutes passed. Musical tones began to sound amid the static, few and far between, so faint and so random he wondered if he was imagining something he wanted very much to hear. But over the next few hours that he waited, alone in the room except for an occasional visit from a nurse, the notes became clearer, the static less, until the melodic sounds resolved into piano music, faint but unquestionable. He didn't recognize any song, but it was light and airy, whimsical and lingering, and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was something.

**12:42 pm**. Freya appeared at the door again, dressed in fresh clothes, her hair still drying in dark waves down her back. Her first glance assessed Merlin's condition – unchanged – and her second was for Arthur, somewhat the worse for the passing hours. Her eyes fell then upon the radio, and her smile was faint and sad.

"Leon is waiting for you," she told him. He nodded and rose to leave, but she cocked her head as if remembering something, her eyes on Merlin's face. "Arthur," she said. "Where is the sword?"

"Agent Chance has it," Arthur said. "It's evidence."

She didn't look at him, but nodded once in acceptance. "It's not in any one man's hands, then?" she said. "It should be sufficiently safe, for now. He showed it to me, yesterday morning…" Arthur saw that _understanding_ had somehow become _accepting_, in that moment. Merlin had been right about the sword, after all, and how it might affect the Lady. She added, "It gave you that wound?"

"Yes," Arthur said, "Although, I wouldn't call it a wound. I mean, it's just a scratch, really." The bandaging on his arm and side was stiff and uncomfortable and itchy, the slight tear in his skin only mildly sore.

She looked away from Merlin to him, her brown eyes fathomless in her sweet expression, sympathetic and patient. "He had nightmares about that, did you know? Because you were killed with a sword burnished in a dragon's breath, ages ago. He feared that yours would be used against you."

A vague dark memory flitted past his eyes – of lying helpless while his last enemy threatened. His sword, in Merlin's hand – _brought peace at last_, Arthur had told him. After how many years, a monumental accomplishment. And Merlin had once again shrugged it off as insignificant, his attention focused wholly on the life and wellbeing of his king.

"I believe I managed to forget that part, actually," he told Freya. "I – should have listened to him, then, I should've –"

She smiled gently and shook her head. "Times have changed, Arthur Pendragon," she said. "Centuries have changed men and their laws. He was right – but so were you. That is," her smile deepened, "what makes a partnership work, isn't it?"

He smiled back at her, feeling his heart lighten somewhat. If she didn't blame him… then it only remained for Merlin to forgive him.

Arthur met Leon in the waiting room to exchange reports. Nothing new on Merlin. Leon described the arrival of the police and two NSA agents, the questioning, the investigation. They'd taken the flash-bang canisters, dug the bullet out of the dining-room floorboards. They'd bagged the cut zip-ties for evidence also, and had photographed endlessly, focusing on broken windows and slashed tires. They'd fingerprinted everyone present as a matter of course, then between the Bentley and the Mustang and a taxi or two, everyone had a ride home.

Leon also promised to oversee the repair of vehicles damaged, as well as the replacement of windows and floorboards, and a thorough cleaning of the mansion, once the scene was released by the authorities. "Make sure you charge it to the company," Arthur told him.

**12:55 pm**. Arthur had gone home after Leon's visit, had showered and changed and eaten something – he didn't even remember what, just tupperware containers of leftovers from the refrigerator. He crawled under sheets, blankets, and pillows in the darkened bedroom and slept. Gwen was there to field phone calls for him, just in case. It was lovely, really, that he and Merlin had so many who cared so much, but the constant concern, the questions, were _exhausting_.

For a moment he wished he were a kid again, living a day in the midst of the dreams, wide-eyed and eager for the next. So full of hope and anticipation and _potential_. All his life ahead of him. As a young teen, he was much too old for an imaginary friend, but the memories of Merlin, the expectation of remembering more was nearly as good as the constant companion himself.

He wished he could dream of those days, those times again.

**7:50 pm**. "Arthur. It's time to wake up." The voice was low and musical, loved and familiar. In the blank disorientation that comes when sleep is hard and fast and insufficient and off-schedule, he thought confusedly, _Merlin_? He'd throw a goblet or a pillow – or find that it was only Gwaine saying, _no, sorry_ – or look out the window at a Seattle gray sky –

He rolled over and opened his eyes to see the fan on the ceiling of his bedroom rotating, languidly stirring the air.

"You wanted me to wake you for dinner," the voice continued. Gwen. He shifted to see her in the doorway, swaying and patting Andrew's back with a rhythm like a heartbeat. Oh, yeah. Dinner with his wife, then back to the hospital to watch his friend sleep.

Gwen crossed the carpeted floor and bent to kiss his lips, bracing the baby against her shoulder for the change in position. Arthur kicked his way out of the bedding and stood, reaching to take his son, which Gwen allowed with a smile. He followed her to the dining room, relishing the sweet smell of clean baby, the feeling of the warm light body tucked against his, uncoordinated but trusting. It was a precious and frightening thing, to hold such a loved life in his hands.

But it was also immensely soothing, comforting, reassuring, when he needed that most.

**11:01 pm**. Freya had gone home. She'd been prepared to quit her job to stay with Merlin – since she'd taken extra time for the trip to England, and since nothing short of legal marriage qualified her for extra time off due to a family emergency – but she'd been talked gently out of it by Gaius. Arthur, as CEO of Camelot, could take as much time and whenever he wanted, and Gaius had considerable freedom also, as the head of the lab and technically Arthur's employee. A change in Merlin's condition could mean flatlining just as easily as it could mean waking up; between the three of them someone could be with Merlin around the clock.

He slouched in the chair in the corner and watched Gaius putter around the bed. Once again the lights had been dimmed, and though Merlin hadn't so much as twitched on his own, Gaius still busied himself straightening sheets, blankets, pillow, checking and re-checking bandages for himself.

"What do you think this means?" Arthur said.

Gaius glanced at him to see what he meant, then cocked his head to listen a moment to the ethereal instrumental music that rose intermittently from the sea of soft static that the radio – always on, at Arthur's insistence – emitted. "It's Beethoven," Gaius said.

Whatever. Arthur repeated, "What do you think it _means_?" To clarify, he reached over and thumbed the station-selection knob to cross the range of frequencies. Nothing changed, the tune still rose and fell leisurely.  
"It's quite clear it's his magic," Gaius said finally. His ministrations complete, he allowed one hand to absently stroke Merlin's black hair, washed clean by the nursing staff. "I believe it might be – solely his magic. Without his conscious will to direct an intended message or thought –"

"You mean like, elevator music?" Arthur said, not knowing whether to be amused or horrified. "Like he's put the whole world on hold?"

Gaius gave him a look over the tops of his black-rimmed half-glasses. "Yes, I suppose so," he said.

Arthur bit his tongue on the question he'd been biting back all day long. _How much longer?_ Looking at Merlin in the bed, the tubes and wires and the blue-green cotton blanket covering him, Arthur was reminded of Gwen's recent hospital stay. _I'm sorry this is taking so long_, she'd said.

_It takes as long as it takes, that's all._

**Monday 1:53 am**. Arthur had dozed off in the chair, and blinked himself awake as a nurse clicked an extra light on to perform the routine checks. It was a bulb just above and behind the head of the bed and gave Merlin's still features harsh and unnatural shadows.

The nurse smiled at him as she moved the blanket to check the bandages on Merlin's leg. "He's fine," she whispered. "Vitals all steady. He's doing great, really."

Arthur didn't disagree. What brought him upright and wide awake was the realization that an actual song was playing on the radio. _Dream… when you're feeling blue/ Dream… that's the thing to do…_

The nurse flipped the light switch and left again, with a whispered promise, "We'll check him again in a couple of hours." _Just… watch the smoke rings rise in the air/ You'll find your share… of memories there…_

Arthur rose to stand at his friend's side._ So dream… when the day is through…_ He didn't say anything, just looked at the face he'd memorized so long ago, now distorted by the plastic of the oxygen mask. _Dream… and they might come true_… The unnatural regularity of the rise and fall bothered him, but he lifted his hand, and placed it lightly on Merlin's chest, over his heart, away from the cruel puncture wound.

_Things… never are… as bad as they seem/ So dream… dream… dream…_

**A/N: This chapter got away from me (again) so one long one became two short ones (again)… I apologize to those who hoped for Merlin's situation to be smoothed out this chapter – it'll happen, I promise… But this means that the next chapter is already half-done, too, and should be up soon… **


	21. Awakened

**Chapter 21: Awakened**

**Monday 8:05 am**. Arthur had been awake for an hour and a half already, watching the room lighten slowly with the dawn, until thin strips of morning light appeared; the sun climbed high enough to reach between the blinds. He rose from the chair and stretched, opening the blinds and hearing Merlin's voice in his mind, _This is a switch_.

"Yeah," he said out loud. "Me, opening your curtains. Rise and shine _Mer_lin, that's an order. Up an' at 'em. Let's have you, lazy –" He turned to stride back to the bedside, and stopped short.

The hope he'd felt during the night, hearing Merlin's consciousness returning in the song on the radio, was dashed away by a wave of dread. His friend looked twice as bad in the strong light as he had since – ever, that Arthur could remember. The brown-and-gold dragon on his shoulder had expanded, grotesquely misshapen with the addition of bruises that blended beside and under the ink. Bruises in every color, from deep red-purple to faint green-brown, spreading down his arm and up over shoulders and collarbones visible above the bandages on his chest, overlaid with scabbed scrapes. Swelling had not gone down entirely, and the skin of his face showed irritation where the breathing apparatus chafed.

The music whispering from the radio on the windowsill swelled audible. _A dream got broken… it seemed like all was lost/ What will be the future?... Couldn't you pay the cost? _Arthur's composure threatened to crack. He would end up sobbing like a baby into Merlin's blanket. _You wonder, will there ever be… A second time around?_

The nurse came bustling in, pretended not to notice Arthur thumbing moisture from the corner of his eye. She washed her hands at the sink as a second nurse hovered in the doorway. "We're changing bandages," she said cheerfully to Arthur. "You can stay if you –"

He didn't. _Step by step… day by day/ A fresh start over/ A different hand we'll play… _He leaned against the doorframe, close enough to hear the comments of the nurses, but with no desire to see further the damage done to his friend.

_The deeper we fall… the stronger we stay…_ The song followed him. It seemed the only thing keeping him upright against the doorframe of the hospital room at that moment. It seemed like a promise, almost.

_We'll make it better… the second time around…_

**3:14 pm**. Arthur had stolen an old copy of the Alexandria Times from the waiting room, after Gwaine had bought Chinese take-out, and the original Round Table had eaten a subdued lunch in the waiting room. He used a pen, the only writing instrument he had, on the crossword puzzle, and for the past half an hour was sure at least two of his answers were wrong – but he couldn't change them, and it had brought his questionable and sporadic progress to a slow halt.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he caught movement. He stared at the bed, studying each part of his friend's motionless body. Wishful thinking? A trick of his eyes due to lack of sleep?

The rhythm of Merlin's breathing was a quarter-second off. And then he coughed. A pathetic, weak sound smothered by the plastic over his face, but the first one he'd made on his own in days. Then he choked. Arthur was at his side in a flash, pen and paper flying forgotten. The sorcerer's hands twitched and his head tilted an inch to the left and the beeping of his monitor increased rapidly until an alarm sounded. He was choking; Arthur's own heart-rate sped up. Merlin was on a respirator, and he couldn't breathe.

"Merlin!" Arthur called out. "Hey, can you hear me? Calm down, you're all right!"

A strong, assertive nurse pushed him aside, her companion on the other side of the bed before Arthur noticed anyone had entered the room. "Is he –"

"Yes, unhook it." To Arthur she said calmly, her hands a flurry of efficient movement, "He's begun to breathe on his own – don't worry, this is a common reaction. Another is trying to remove the mask – that's instinctive when the body doesn't feel it can breathe properly. But the pain from his other injuries would prevent his being able to move – you got that side, Dora? Okay, nice and easy – out we go –"

The apparatus was drawn away from Merlin's face, and the choking changed to gasping, which settled as all three watched closely. The nurse next to Arthur seemed pleased, though his heart was still racing and his mouth was dry.

"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?" she said. "Sooner than we thought – Dora, keep an eye on his O2 levels, we can put a tube in his nose if we need to. Mr. Caroban? Can you hear me? Dora, go ahead and prep another shot of morphine."

She moved and Arthur was in her place without apology. Merlin's eyes indeed were fluttering open – Arthur anxiously watched and hoped for them to focus.

"Hey – Merlin?" he tried, softly. "Relax, okay? I'm here, and you're going to be fine."

The blue of Merlin's gaze connected to his, if only for a moment. But it wasn't wishful thinking or a trick of his mind, when Merlin nodded once at him.

**4:24 pm. **Freya arrived breathless and bright-eyed, straight from work after Arthur's text. She halted in the doorway, bracing herself on the doorframe, and her face twisted as she looked at Merlin. "You said he woke up?" she said in a small voice.

"He did," Arthur assured her. "Just for a few seconds. He was pretty out of it, but he's been breathing on his own since then. They gave him another shot of morphine, so he might not," he hesitated, wondering if he shouldn't have sent her that text, after all, "he might not wake up again for a while."

She nodded, tears shining in her eyes, and he moved so she could take his place on Merlin's right; the sling suspending the shattered left forearm was an obstacle too fragile and too bulky for someone to feel comfortable sitting at the left side of the bed. Arthur watched her mentally catalogue the new bruises, noting the old ones and the scrapes that overlaid them with a critical eye.

"Gaius said," Arthur reminded her softly, reminding himself at the same time, "that it would look worse before the bruises begin to fade."

It was somewhat more nerve-wracking to listen to him breathing on his own – the slight pause before inhalation, the faint rattle in his chest on exhalation, another pause. But Freya showed the fortitude of a soldier's wife – nothing else mattered except that spark of life.

The instrumental music flowing softly from the radio on the windowsill segued seamlessly into a new song. _Lady… are you crying?... Do the tears belong to me?_

She leaned forward to place her lips against his, and this time it was Arthur watching eagerly for a reaction that didn't happen. A tear slipped down her cheek before she finished the kiss and retreated, sitting down beside him with a sigh.

_Did you think our time together was all gone? _

He ventured, "Did you notice?" gesturing at the radio. _Close your eyes… and rest your weary mind_ … They both listened to the song. _I promise I will stay… right here beside you…_ Her eyes shone with hope and unshed tears.

"They said to give him a few hours off the respirator," Arthur told her quietly, feeling like he was interrupting. "Then they might move him to a regular ward for the night."

_I wish that you could know… how much I love you…_ She nodded her thanks, but said nothing. _Lady… my sweet lady… I'm as close as I can be/_ _And I swear to you… our time has just begun…_

**6:56 pm.** Arthur texted the Round Table that Merlin had been moved from ICU, but added a note that more visitors should wait until Tuesday. He received the expected flood of return texts, rejoicing the news and – in Gwaine's case – complaining about the regular visiting hours policy.

Percival, however, texted him from the parking lot of the hospital. **Just got here w/ K&K**, he wrote. **Can we come up 4 a sec?** Arthur replied in the affirmative, and met the family in the waiting room.

"He's breathing on his own," Arthur told them. "But he hasn't really been awake, yet."

"Can we still –" the big knight gestured awkwardly – "see him?"

Kathryn said, not quite meeting his eyes, "I just wanted a chance to thank him." Arthur looked at her more closely – the normally vivacious brunette was subdued, shifting her weight self-consciously half-behind her husband. He looked a question at Percival, who grimaced in response, acknowledging what Arthur had sensed, but unwilling to explain at the moment.

"Sure," Arthur said, and turned to lead them to Merlin's new room.

Percival hoisted Katy into his arms, for her comfort and for his, as well as to keep her out of the way of anything important, Arthur thought. He stayed by the door as Percival trailed Kathryn around to Merlin's right side. As her mother took Merlin's fingers gently in her hand, Katy watched in absolute and wide-eyed silence.

Then Percival said softly, "You see, baby girl? Uncle Merlin got hurt by those bad men, but the nurses will make him all better, here." And Arthur remembered what had happened the last time the little girl had seen the sorcerer.

"Unca Mewin sick?" she said finally. "Dwink'a poison tup?"

Arthur took two steps closer to the bed without intending to. Had Merlin told Katy that story? He was the only one who could have.

Kathryn gave Arthur an apologetic look, still without fully meeting his eyes. "She wanted to watch Snow White, yesterday – I think she got a little mixed up," she explained. There was embarrassment in her manner that had never been there before, when she addressed him. "Uncle Merlin's not Snow White, love," she said to her daughter. "He's not poisoned."

"S'eepin'?" Katy questioned, lurching forward in her father's arms as if she would dive onto the bed with Merlin.

Percival held her back. "Yes, kind of," the big knight said. "He has to sleep so his owies can get better."

Katy looked up toward Arthur. "You tiss 'im?" she suggested hopefully. "Den 'e wate up? You tiss 'im!"

"Me?" Arthur said incredulously. Did Katy honestly expect him to play the handsome prince to Merlin's Snow White? And would he then _have_ to, to satisfy her? Percival snickered.

"No," Katy said scornfully, pointing – not exactly at him, over his shoulder to the open doorway. "Da _Wady_." Arthur turned as Freya slipped into the room, a twinkle in her eye and her sweet smile in place.

Kathryn left Merlin's side to hug Freya, both of them careful of the bulge of Kathryn's expectancy. "How are you holding up?" Kathryn murmured, and Freya's answer was too quiet for Arthur to hear. He looked at Percival's wife – a soldier's wife, too – and remembered that they'd already been married when Percival and Lancelot were in Afghanistan. That she'd done as Gwen had done, fifteen centuries before, kissed her man and sent him to war, remaining behind to wait and hope.

Katy was not to be deterred. "Tiss 'im, Wady," she demanded, pointing her tiny finger at her Uncle Merlin. "Wate 'im up."

"Oh, Katy," Freya said. "If only it were that easy. But since _I_ don't mind doing it at all…" She threw a teasing look at Arthur as she rounded the bed to press her lips on Merlin's. "See, Katy? We just have to let him wake up on his own." The glance she let linger on Merlin was unhappy, as she brushed the fringe of hair that had fallen down his forehead lightly with her fingertips.

Katy looked at him, frowning at the machines, the sling, the blanket. Then she yelled, "Mo'nin', Unca Mewin! Wate up, sweepy-head! Wise an' sine!"

Percival and Kathryn both shushed their daughter, hurriedly and with a little embarrassment. Arthur thought it amusing that Freya looked, as he had, to see if the little girl had succeeded in rousing the sorcerer, but there was no movement, not a flutter of eyelids, or –

Another flutter caught his attention. A delicate little butterfly fanned tiny white-blue wings the size of the ball of his thumb from its perch on the side of Merlin's motionless forefinger.

"Oh, _look_!" Freya said with a joy soft but deep.

"How did that get in here?" Kathryn wondered.

Arthur looked at Percival, saw in the biggest knight the strain he'd seen in Merlin's eyes, remembered his answer to Merlin's question – _she's happy thinking it's a joke… it'll come up sometime – then I'll tell her._ So he had told her. Of course Percival was a pillar of strength – mentally and emotionally as well as physically – so Kathryn wouldn't have reacted as Freya did, to doubt his sanity, but – there was a strain. No wonder she didn't want to meet Arthur's eyes.

He said deliberately, "Look what Uncle Merlin did for you, Katy. Now you know he'll be okay, right?"

Freya coaxed the butterfly to step onto her own finger, then carried it to Katy in Percival's arms. The big knight accepted it onto his. "See that?" he said to his daughter as the delicate wings fanned gracefully. "We can take it outside and set it free, why don't we?"

He turned to leave, and as they passed through the doorway Katy hollered over his shoulder, "Tants for da maddick, Unca Mewin!"

Kathryn's eyes were narrowed as she looked at Arthur and Freya. She said, "_He_ did that? But _how_?"

Freya smiled at her. "Magic," she said simply. "Percival told you, didn't he? Merlin has always had a way with flowers and butterflies." Arthur bit his lip to keep back a smile. If Merlin was awake he'd tease him, _you're such a_ girl – _flowers and butterflies_! "His magic is beautiful, instinctive – defensive," Freya concluded.

Arthur could see Kathryn trying to resolve such an incredible suggestion in her mind, studying each of them – even Merlin – as if sooner or later one of them would burst into laughter and admit to pulling her leg. Then realization dawned.

"He did – something, didn't he?" she said, nodding to Merlin. "In that bedroom? When those things went off, I couldn't see or hear and I thought – _my baby is too far away _– I was so afraid. I wanted her right there where I could touch her and see that she was okay, right that second. And there she was. I couldn't figure –" she shook her head, struggling now to hold back tears – "how Katy had escaped whatever happened in the bedroom, to run from there – to me in the living room, past and through those men who were hitting you guys and kicking and tying you up – how she got to me, without… He – he _sent_ her, somehow? One place to another, in a split second?"

Arthur felt a little stunned, himself, but Freya was unsurprised. "Of course," she said gently. "He would protect your daughter at all costs."

Kathryn nodded. She looked at both of them, then back at Merlin, and nodded again. "So he'll be all right," she said, as if it were only logical, that someone with such powerful _real_ magic would heal.

"It'll take some time," Freya said.

Kathryn moved back to the bedside, and Freya stood to allow her to get close, each woman putting her arm around the other. She stared down at Merlin, the pale bruised skin, the unkempt hair, and gave him a crooked smile. "I thought he was an old man," she whispered to Freya. "You know, long white beard?"

Freya's brown eyes shone at Arthur, who rolled his own. "Someday he'll look like that again," she said, her tone not entirely serious.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Merlin couldn't remember the last time he'd been so tired. Or so sore. The plane crash? Yes, probably – although, if he could think clearly, he'd probably be able to come up with another dozen times he'd been as tired and sore, before.

_It's my lot in life._

Though uncomfortable, it wasn't unbearable, this place of drifting consciousness. If the voices were vague and distant, so was the pain. An occasional spike of alarm – this wasn't right, this wasn't normal – at a bit of memory trying to return. The sounds that didn't belong anywhere but a hospital intruded, causing instinctive subconscious reaction, but tempered by the surety that someone was with him.

He heard Gaius' even, professional voice, sensed his gentle, sure hands. He heard Freya – soft and tremulous and strong all at once – sometimes he thought he imagined her lips warm on his. Gaius made him feel safe; Freya made him feel loved.

And Arthur. There wasn't a simple word for what he felt when he could sense Arthur's presence. It made him want to wake up.

Words came to him in his unsettled oblivion. "He didn't say anything, yet." The voice made him taste strawberries, smell roses, see candlelight dancing against the back of his eyelids. "But he opened his eyes a couple of times, and – he smiled."

That made him glad. Was it him that had smiled? It sounded like he'd made her whole day brighter. If it was as easy as that, he'd work harder to smile.

More sounds, rhythmic clicking, a warm golden brightness flooding his entire body. _Five more minutes_, he thought – oh, but he'd forgotten that he did want to wake up, this time. He could feel his brows draw together with the effort – since when did it become such hard work to lift his eyelids?

"Merlin?" someone said, so close that he flinched.

It seemed to take hours to focus on the face that swam above his own. Arthur. _See, I'm awake!_

His king gave him an uninhibited version of his familiar sideways smile. "Ye gods, Merlin," he said in a playful way, "I was beginning to think you'd sleep all week."

It took a moment for Merlin to realize that he should respond, in some way, and he saw a flash of worry eclipse Arthur's smile, before he managed to give his eyes a deliberate exaggerated roll. Arthur laughed right out loud, and that made the effort worth it. Merlin remembered, _he didn't say anything, yet_, and wanted to – but he couldn't so much as whisper. His throat was tight and sore and dry; he tried to lift his hand to indicate what he wanted, and winced at the pain that shot through his body.

"All right, it's all right," Arthur soothed him. "You're pretty badly hurt – do you remember falling?"

Falling. He did remember – backwards off that dark stage, while Arthur fought… no, that wasn't quite right.

"Don't try to move," Arthur cautioned. "You'll be taken care of, don't worry. I'm here, Gaius is here." He turned away, the movement making Merlin dizzy though he remained still, then held up a covered cup with a straw. "Here." He positioned the straw with his finger and held it to Merlin's mouth.

He found that his lips would obey his desire to open, and the rest of his mouth knew what to do with a straw leading to a cup of cool water. He swallowed gratefully. "Are you…" His whisper sounded hoarse, exactly how his throat felt. He wondered how long it had been since he'd spoken – to Gwaine, he remembered, he'd spoken to Gwaine. But Gwaine was fine. It was Arthur that Merlin was worried about. "Hurt?" he finished.

"Nah," Arthur said easily, but Merlin's eyes fell on Arthur's arm. "Oh, this? A scratch. Dozen band-aids, no stitches."

At least it wasn't the wound to his side that Merlin had dreamed. "It wasn't –" he struggled briefly, it hurt his chest to breathe and talk at once. "The sword?"

"Well –" Arthur hesitated too long.

It was. Oh, damn, he _knew_ it would happen. He should have –

"It was fine," Arthur said. "Between you and me – and Percival, actually – we defeated them. Your magic, Merlin – you knew this, didn't you? – saved my life. Again. And Merlin – thank you."

The expressed gratitude of his king was completely unnecessary. And it made him feel damn near cheerful.

For some time – hours, or days, it made no difference to him - he floated in and out of consciousness as easy and smooth as blinking, and with about as much warning, to himself and everyone around. He'd be listening to Gaius give advice about using healing magic on himself, following the lecture on the dangers of pneumonia and the effects of oxygen deprivation on the brain and the theory of repairing nerve damage, and then he'd be drifting away.

And hear his grandfather say, "It's entirely natural, sire –" oh, Arthur must have come in, then – "for him to succumb so swiftly to slumber. Aside from the drugs in his system, the body's ordinary healing process must balance with his magic working to stabilize and accelerate that process, which takes energy."

Yes, he supposed that made sense. Lying in the bed, he could feel the magic move, swirling and eddying through him, pooling in one small spot in his chest, in his leg, lapping through his broken arm, then ebbing like a low tide to let him rest again.

Freya kissed him, and he woke to smile at her, to marvel at the sweetness of her smile in return. "I love you," he told her, and she kissed him again. He thought of the ring that Arthur had showed him at one point was safe in his own pocket – since Merlin wasn't wearing pants yet – and determined to heal at a faster pace, so he'd be able to get down on his knee for a proposal. No more waiting.

Every time he opened his eyes, it seemed, someone was with him. Leaning forward eagerly to talk, to offer him a drink, and he thanked them every time. He apologized for the inconvenience to them, and was told not to waste energy with such nonsense. And he smiled.

Gwaine came, and Merlin managed to lift his right arm from the bed, though the clasping and holding was then up to the knight.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. "You saved my life, you know. Arthur told me that you wouldn't give me up."

The dark-haired knight gave him an incorrigible grin. "I'm sure I can think of more than once you've saved _my_ life," he told him. "And you can probably think of a dozen times when I didn't even know it, yeah?"

"And shall do so again," Merlin promised. His eyelids were trying to drag shut, and he might have snickered at the alarm on Gwaine's face if he'd had the strength. He did, however, squeeze his friend's hand as he listened to Arthur begin to pass on the explanation from Gaius.

He said the same thing to Percival when the big knight loomed in the tiny hospital room. Thank you. He'd gotten only a foggy idea of what had happened at Halbyon that night, due to Arthur's reluctance to give him a straight answer, but one thing had been very clear – that Percival's rifle shot had saved the king's life. Percival gave him his cheery little-boy smile in return, and said, no, thank _you_.

Elyan and Gwen had come together, bringing baby Andrew for a second's visit. At least, it seemed like just a second to Merlin. One second, wherein he managed to lift his hand for Arthur's son to find the tip of his finger and hold on with his own tiny hand.

Ray and Jason came together, with awkward but well-meant get-well wishes. And one day Arthur assisted a male nurse in lifting Merlin to the least-uncomfortable position in a wheelchair, to roll the halls and doze in the sunshine by the windows in the waiting room. When he opened his eyes, he saw Leon sitting across from him, with the patient air of someone keeping a sleeping friend company, the brace on his own leg making it necessary to stretch it out.

"Slowly but surely, huh?" Leon said, referring to the healing process.

"Emphasis on slowly," Merlin agreed. He turned his head a little on the pillow tucked into the back of the wheelchair so he could see the older knight more clearly. "What about you?" he said.

Leon chuckled. "All sympathy for me is gone," he said contentedly. "You are the center of attention once again, my friend."

"Oh, hell," Merlin said, and Leon laughed again.

Occasionally he remembered to ask what time it was, what day it was. It seemed to reassure whoever he was with, but the information didn't mean much, or stay with him. Until one day when he opened his eyes and felt _awake_, for the first time in – he took a moment to calculate, and was proud that he was able to – over a week. _Tuesday morning_, he thought, looking up at the clock. 10:37 am. He let his head tip sideways to look at Arthur, in the guest chair in the corner. His friend yawned, scrubbed one hand through his hair, his attention on the laptop balanced on his knee.

"Can I have my computer?" Merlin asked.

"Why?" Arthur mumbled absently; he wasn't paying him a quarter of his attention.

"I'm –" Restless. Tired of being tired. _If you want to stop being treated like an invalid, you have to stop acting like one._ "I'm bored?" he concluded.

"Really?" Arthur said then, glancing up and stifling another yawn. "You're bored so you want to work?"

"Gaius told me to slow down on the healing," Merlin said. "So no one gets suspicious before I get discharged. But I'm still a damn cripple in this bed, and –"

"You want to go for a walk?" Arthur proposed solicitously.

Going for a walk meant calling a couple of nurses to help Arthur lift him into a wheelchair and push him slowly down the hall and back. And the tone of Arthur's question was just too close to one Merlin himself used, talking to the Scottie. "No," Merlin said. "I want _out_."

"You have to be patient –" Arthur said soothingly.

"The hell with patience!" Merlin snapped, and the emphatic way he'd spoken roughened his throat and pulled at the muscles in his chest and he had an irresistible urge to cough, only coughing _hurt_. The hell with slow, unsuspicious healing and not being able to put weight on his right leg and not being able to use a crutch because of cracked ribs and a hole through the right side of his chest and being careful of the pins studding his left forearm like he was some kind of damn mutant porcupine and not having a more stable cast because the flesh was still healing and still having a flash of panic when he woke up in hospital, dizzily thinking himself captive again in a clinic basement so that his friends couldn't leave him alone for a single damn minute –

And the hell with Arthur treating him like an invalid, too. He wanted a rousing good argument with insults and insights that ended with both of them grinning at each other a little shamefacedly.

"Why don't you watch tv, or eat some jello or something?" Arthur said, absently, his attention back on the screen on his lap. "Play some music." He indicated Merlin's laptop on the side table, hooked up to the iPod.

Merlin glared at him, and - though he couldn't see it, and didn't actually intend it – he knew that the screen of the laptop had gone blank. Arthur arched an eyebrow at him. "Must be the battery," Merlin said innocently.

"Feeling a bit childish today, are we?" Arthur said.

Merlin said, "Did Chance say when we're getting the sword back?" That was a topic guaranteed for conflict, lately.

Arthur closed the laptop, drummed his fingers on the top of it, studied Merlin as if trying to decide something. "It belongs to Halbyon," he said mildly. "Chance said with the investigation closed, it should be returned to them sometime this week." Merlin growled, and Arthur added in the same placating tone, "I've a bid in to the board of directors to buy it – without Summerall, they don't have a reason not to accept."

Merlin considered. "It feels stupid that you'd have to pay for it, at this point."

"Why?" Arthur's look was ironic. "Because you stole it fair and square?"

"What else did Chance say?" Merlin asked. He glanced to be sure no one outside the room would notice, then used magic to push the blanket off his legs, covered now with the pajama pants the nurses had put on him. He gripped the bar on the right side of the bed to make it easier to move his legs to the side, dangle them over the edge so he was sitting rather than lying down.

Arthur watched him closely, but for once made no move or offer to help. "He said there's a laundry list of charges against Summerall, and he agreed to sign a full confession in exchange for life in prison, rather than facing a trial and a possible death penalty."

Merlin shifted to bring his left foot down to the floor, and waited for his pulse and breathing to calm from just those small movements. The pain had gone from sharp agony to a deep dull ache, but it still sometimes left him with mild nausea and a light sweat. "How's his hand?" he said uncharitably.

A flicker of amusement passed through Arthur's eyes. "He lost the thumb and first finger, according to Chance. And sustained enough nerve and muscle damage that the hand is essentially useless."

Merlin edged forward til both feet were on the floor. "Didn't Wendy say Halbyon's board of directors were supposed to meet yesterday?"

A smile tried to tug at the side of Arthur's mouth. "So you _were_ listening," he commented.

Merlin leaned forward to let his hand hover over the wound just above his right knee, covered by bandages and pajama pants. His back to the door, he directed his magic to healing, gauging quantity and strength to accomplish his goal. Arthur remained silent during the process, but set aside the computer and moved to the edge of his own seat as if ready for whatever action might be required. Merlin met his eyes with a challenging grin, daring him to voice a protest. "And so?" he said, focusing on breathing evenly.

"She reported that they voted to resubmit the merger to Camelot." The former king looked like he expected to have to dive forward and catch Merlin as he keeled over.

"Same terms?" Merlin put a little weight on his legs, which felt shaky and sore. He transferred a little more.

"For all intents and purposes," Arthur said. "That whole, trade Excalibur for Merlin thing is back on the table, too." Merlin lifted himself a few inches off the bed, stopped to study his friend. Arthur hadn't simply rejected the offer. He was considering it. "Because of your contract," Arthur continued. "The merger would have to be in place for you to make any contributions or hold any position, no matter how temporary, within Halbyon. And because you're also forbidden from accepting a monetary fee for your services from anyone not Camelot or the NSA, they've offered the Artorius Blade, if you agree."

He stood from his chair as Merlin straightened, standing though most of his weight was on his good left leg. "Which one?" Merlin said narrowly, as Arthur came right up next to him, watching his legs like he could see them trembling. "The real or the replica?"

"Our choice, evidently." Arthur was amused. "No one there can tell the difference without running another course of tests – and no one cares, either, I take it. Wendy was very put out at the fact that no one shares her belief about its identity."

"So they'd just give it to you, in exchange for a few hours of my time," Merlin marveled.

"It wouldn't be that simple, obviously," Arthur said, "but yeah."

Merlin tried a shuffle-hobble-limp in the direction of the door; it seemed to work as a means of locomotion that didn't send messages of pain zinging through chest, back, and left arm. "With Summerall gone, Halbyon's going to need a thorough personnel house-cleaning, before they can build themselves back up again. After this scandal they're probably worth about half what they were, before." Shuffle-hobble. Two more steps to the door, and Arthur right at his elbow. He felt light-headed, but it was a good feeling. "You sure you want to merge Camelot with a company in that kind of trouble?"

Arthur waited til they reached the doorway, then rounded him to press his good shoulder in an unmistakable message – _Take it easy. Slow down. Rest here a minute_. And this time he didn't resist obeying.

"Aside from the CEO and the troubles with the parapsych department," Arthur said, "it was a good company. A solid, personnel-supplier. They've voted – contingent upon the merger, of course, and my own agreement – to accept me as their new CEO."

Merlin couldn't help it. He began to laugh, and it _hurt_. He pressed his left palm to the wound in his chest and let himself double over in Arthur's arms, funneling magic until the spike-pounding throb subsided. "I'm fine," he wheezed. "Oh, _Arthur_. No, I'm fine."

His king's hands encouraged him upright again. "Hell, Merlin," Arthur said, and he was pale with shock, himself.

A passing nurse paused to say, "Are you doing all right? Do you need anything, any help?"

He smiled and waved vaguely in her direction so she would leave them alone. "You're going to do it, aren't you?" he demanded weakly of his friend.

"Not without talking to you first," Arthur said, looking like he wanted to order Merlin back to bed. "And I mean, when you're not dopey on pain meds or cranky because you're in pain."

"Wendy said, _now don't you see why we need you_," he told Arthur. He couldn't seem to _stop_ smiling. "Who the hell better to unit Camelot and Halbyon and free magic, than Arthur and Merlin?" He took his hand from the lintel and tipped forward against Arthur in an awkward am-I-catching-or-hugging-you embrace, grunting at the pain that flared again.

"Okay, okay," Arthur said, simultaneously supporting him and turning him around. "I think you've have enough for today. Let's stroll on back to bed, hm?"

Merlin was feeling more than a little giddy on good news – better than he could have dreamed, actually. This was the closest he remembered coming to his dream of bringing magic back to the world – acceptance and appreciation and training for use, even if it was done discreetly and under the definition of consulting work.

"You won't get me into bed that easily," he teased, but allowing Arthur to lead him shuffling into the room. "Not without giving me a ring, first."

"Geez, Merlin, what did they give you today?" Arthur said, in the grouchy tone that meant he wasn't really bothered. "Anyway, I do have a ring for you, remember? Just let me know when you want it back. I can give it to Gaius to keep at the townhouse if you –"

"No," Merlin said, lowering himself experimentally to the bed again. His leg, at least, felt like ninth-grade PE again, that sadistic coach who made the class do lunges from one end of the soccer field to the other – or Hyden, forcing calisthenics all morning. Sore, but no longer _damaged_. He flashed Arthur a grin. "I have an idea."

Merlin's idea had to wait until the following day. Preparations just couldn't get done in time, otherwise.

So Wednesday noon he found himself in a cool dim Radiology room, watching the minutes tick by on the wall clock as a new trainee was given pointers by the technician taking chest x-rays - ribs knitting nicely, not a whisper of pneumonia - x-rays of the broken bone in Merlin's arm.

He'd seen his previous films, the row of pins bright white and the splintered bone a soggy indistinct gray, the doctor pointing out what progress had been made, what healing was still being waited on. Merlin had said confusedly, Oh, I'll have to work on that, and the doctor had given him an odd look and replied, It's not the kind of test where you can improve your score with more studying…

He was late. Late, to his own party.

Arthur was waiting outside the Radiology room, pacing with his hands in his pockets. "Finally!" he said explosively when the tech opened the door and escorted Merlin out.

"You have to be patient," Merlin reminded him impudently.

"Sit down!" Arthur snapped, shoving the wheelchair at him threateningly. "Gwaine just texted me he's going to eat the cake himself if we don't get our asses in gear – and Gwen made that cake herself, so if he touches it before you make your grand entrance…"

"Yes, I guess you're right," Merlin said, shuffling between the footrests and turning to lower himself to the seat.

"It happens more often than you think," Arthur said.

He smirked. "Well, don't let it go to your head."

"Get your big feet up on those things and out of the way, will you?" Arthur shot back.

Merlin obeyed, and as Arthur began to wheel him down the long hallway toward the waiting room, he tossed over his shoulder, "H'ya!" Arthur let go of one handlebar to smack the back of Merlin's head. "Ow, hey!" he protested, grinning wider because Arthur couldn't see it from behind him.

"Show some respect for your liege," Arthur said. "That's an order."

"Yes, sire!" Merlin responded in an utterly disrespectful tone. "Of course, sire! Whatever you say, sire!"

Arthur paused beside the handicap-marked automatic-open for a set of double-doors, and pulled the ring from his pocket to hand to Merlin, who tucked it between his scarred left wrist and the sling. "You ready for this?" Arthur said, and punched the button.

The doors opened on a scene of pleasant chaos. They'd gotten permission to bring food up to the waiting room for a celebratory lunch with the Round Table. He was greeted with teasing comments and questions, handshakes and – in the case of Gwen, Kathryn, and Gaius – hugs. Arthur expertly steered him closer to the seat Freya had taken, and as she started to rise to greet him, Merlin motioned her to stay in place.

Then he moved the footrests, put his rubber-soled hospital socks down on the floor, and pushed himself up to standing. Grinning at the happy, encouraging smile on her face, he took three steps, balanced himself, then went down on one knee, shifting to keep the weight off the healing muscle.

Freya's eyes widened and her fingertips hid the "O" her mouth made. Behind him he heard snickers and hissed whispers – a catcall from Gwaine – as the other guys caught on one by one to his intentions, but it was all a fog of who-gives-a-damn behind him.

"When I saw you," he said to her softly. "I couldn't believe my eyes. Couldn't believe my infinite good luck, to be able to see your face again, to hear your voice, to touch you." He reached to do just that, drawing his fingers gently over the curve of her cheek. She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into his touch, and when she opened them again, they were sparkling with happy tears. "I can't promise you anything but my love. But that's yours, and always has been. All day, every day, for as long as we have."

Behind him, Gwaine teased, "Is there a question in there, Merlin?"

The pink in Freya's cheeks heightened, and she dropped her gaze with a flutter of lashes that pulled Merlin in closer. "Marry me," he said softly, the words not quite a question. The ring was there, held between thumb and the first two fingers of his right hand, so that she could clearly see what he offered.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered, cupping his hand in her smaller one as she leaned forward to kiss him. "Yes," she said against his mouth, then drew back to call, "Yes!" over his shoulder so the rest of the room, waiting with bated breath, would know her response.

For the second time the room erupted in applause, whistles, cheers. Merlin glanced back in surprise to see that half a dozen members of the nursing staff had joined them, also. Gwen was crying, and Gaius looked suspiciously close to it, himself. Freya's blush deepened, and Arthur said, "Back, you vultures!"

And Merlin placed his ring on his Lady's finger.


	22. Epilogue

…..*….. …..*….. **Epilogue – Some Years Later** …..*….. …..*…..

Arthur sat at his desk in Camelot, lounging back in the comfortably padded desk chair. It was Wednesday morning, and soon he would head down the hall to the conference room for the weekly Round Table meeting.

On the cluttered desk there were a few things that always would trump the rest in the clamor for his attention. First was a framed photograph of Guinevere in a crisp white blouse over which trailed the long black ringlets of the little girl on her lap, the hand of the handsome sturdy boy standing at her shoulder, smiling like she'd just won the lottery. Beside the tiny figure of a bearded King Arthur eternally striving to draw Excalibur from the stone was a calendar of yearly events – anniversaries, birthdays of his friends and their families, the special dates now numbering now in the twenties.

On the wall opposite his desk was a framed photo of the first CEO of Camelot, Thomas Drake, draped with a scrap of black. It had taken a while, but he no longer felt the pang of loss when his gaze fell on the photograph, just a faint regretful longing. He swiveled slightly to indulge himself instead with a perusal of the collection of photographs on the low shelf on the wall just beyond his computer. There, a rare capturing of Merlin in formal-wear, grinning all over himself as he held a white-gowned Freya close. A more recent one showed both black-haired heads bent over a sleeping infant. Down the line of captured memories, the knights and their families. Gaius with his great-grandbaby cradled in his hands.

And just above the photographs, bolted to the wall in a glass case backed with red velvet, The Sword. Excalibur. No longer wielded by his hand, but it hummed at his back always, the promise of faithful powerful potential to support and encourage and remind him of his purpose.

He looked up as the office door opened, and Merlin himself sauntered in, casual and comfortable, in gray trousers and vest over a collared shirt, irreverent grin in place – though with an air of unmistakable maturity and authority - and seated himself on the corner of the big mahogany desk. He snapped his fingers and the computer screen to Arthur's left lit up, flickered through a dozen images. "The presentation," Merlin informed him. "Ready for the Pentagon next week – Arthur, what is it?" The habitual impertinence of his expression sobered only partially.

Behind him, the door pushed open as Leon put his head in to ask, "Jacinta wants to know, we're still on for Busch Gardens this weekend, right?"

"Saturday, eight o'clock," Merlin answered him, turned to Arthur and said again, "What is it? You look like –"

"It's nothing," Arthur said, feeling a smile pull sideways. "Déjà vu, I guess."

"Well, we're ready for you in the conference room," Leon said, and added with an ironic respect, "Sire."

Merlin's eyes twinkled, and he stood as Arthur did. "Come on, then," Arthur said. "We've got work to do."

**A/N: So here we are at last. The End. Thank you all so much for your follows, favorites, reviews – advice and encouragement. It meant lots more than you probably know!**

**This is a list of the music used in part 3, **_**The Artorius Blade**_**. I've added a similar list to the last chapter of **_**A Once and Future Destiny**_** and **_**The Emrys Strain**_**, just fyi.**

Chapter 1 (Domesticated) - "Hello Young Lovers" from _The King and I_

Chapter 4 (Recalled) - "Give Me the Beat Boys" by the Doobie Brothers; "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head" by B.J. Thomas

Chapter 5 (Reacquainted) - "Yesterday" by the Beatles; "Tomorrow" from _Annie_

Chapter 6 (Connected) - "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls; "Only God Knows Why" by Kid Rock

Chapter 7 (Confronted) – "Sloop John B" by the Beach Boys; "Green Door" by Shakin Stevens

Chapter 8 (Cleared for Departure) – "Runaway" by Damn Yankees; "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by Peter, Paul, and Mary; "Daniel" by Elton John; "Get to Me" by Train; "No One is to Blame" by Howard Jones; _French Kiss_ ref.

Chapter 9 (Recovered) – "All I Ask of You" from _Phantom of the Opera_; "On the Street Where You Live" from _My Fair Lady_

Chapter 10 (Delivered) - "Circle of Life" from _Lion King_

Chapter 11 (Treasured) – "The Rainbow Down the Road" by Patty Loveless/ Radney Foster; "I Grieve" by Peter Gabriel; "If I Could Turn Back Time" by Cher; "Let My Love Open the Door" by Peter Townshend

Chapter 12 (Mix-and-Matched) – "Dante's Prayer" by Loreena McKennitt; "Do You Believe in Magic" by Lovin' Spoonful

Chapter 13 (Presented) – "Back to Good" by Matchbox 20

Chapter 14 (Liberated) – "Hello Again" by Neil Diamond

Chapter 15 (Challenged) - "You Don't Mess Around With Jim" by Jim Croce

Chapter 16 (Lifted) – "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban; "Flower Man" by Tonic; "One More Murder" by Better Than Ezra

Chapter 17 (Collected) – "I Believe in Angels" by Abba; "American Pie" by Don McLean

Chapter 18 (Unleashed) – "This Ain't My First Rodeo" by Vern Gosden; "For You" by Johnny Cash/Dave Matthews; _Snow White_ ref.

Chapter 19 (Ambushed) – "Take a Look at Me Now" by Phil Collins; "Heartlight" and "All I Really Need is You" by Neil Diamond

Chapter 20 (Awaited) – "Dream" by Roy Orbison

Chapter 21 (Awakened) – "Step by Step" theme song ('91-'98); "My Sweet Lady" by John Denver


End file.
